Exile
by WTFdoUwantNOW
Summary: After Sophia is found in the barn, Daryl decides to go it alone after getting into a fight with Shane where Shane threatens his life. Daryl and the group unexpectedly cross paths again once Daryl has found his own place to stay. Can they all just get along? Rated M for cussin', violence, gore, adult sexual situations, nekkid Daryl moments. No Caryl 'cause it sickens me..
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer- **I don't own Walking Dead or any of the characters, but I like to play with and torture them at times.

**Warnings-** Rated M for cussing, nakedness, violence, improper English usage

Daryl finished securing the last of his belongings to Merle's Bonneville and sighed. He had a pounding headache and his whole body felt like it was staging a protest against being upright. Man, did he ache all over. The sun was just peeking over the trees and it cast a rosy glow on the edges of the landscape as it chased the darkness of night away. The birds were singing and calling to one another as they greeted the sun and there was not a cloud to be seen in the sky as the darkness dispersed. The air was heavy with humidity and he wiped a trembling hand across his forehead that was already damp with sweat. This was going to be another extremely hot and muggy Georgian summer day. He looked down the hill at the Greene's farmhouse. It was quiet down there and there were no signs of anyone being up and about at this early hour. He was glad of that. He didn't want anyone making a scene or trying to talk him into staying. Right, he thought, like anyone would want him to stay.

* * *

He had moved his tent and his belongings away from the others and secluded himself two days after the creature that had been Sophia had walked out of the barn. He hadn't been able to face Carol after that and he hadn't wanted to see or talk with anyone. His move away from them had appeared to concern some of the group members but after a couple of angrily thwarted visitation attempts to his new location by Rick, Andrea and Glenn, they had left him alone. That had been a little over a week and a half ago. Carol, of course, had been devastated when Sophia stumbled out of the barn and although he kept a stiff upper lip, he had been crushed as well. He was so sure that Sophia was still alive and that he would find her. He would reunite her with her mother and there would be hugs and smiles all around and he wouldn't have to hear and be driven half mad by Carol's woeful sighs and quiet crying. He was deeply remorseful for the false hope he had given Carol and the others. He'd been a complete jackass, telling her that they were going to find Sophia and that she was going to be just _fine_.

Shane had reminded him of that last night when they had gotten into their little altercation. Little altercation? Hell, Shane had beaten the shit out of him. "You asshole! I'd been saying for days that the search for Carol's girl should be called off; trying to prepare her to accept that her daughter wasn't coming back. Hell, trying to get everyone to pull their heads out of their asses and face the fact that the girl was dead!.. but you, Mr." Super Tracker Mighty Hunter" go and open your big stupid-ass mouth and spout off some complete bullshit about knowing that she's still alive and she's going to be FINE! Carol grabbed right on to that! You gave her hope when there was none! Then you bring her that fucking flower and tell her a fairy tale that strings her even further along! What the hell are you, some redneck inbred sadist? She wasn't prepared in the least for Sophia's death just because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, you worthless piece of shit!"

Daryl grimaced at the memory of Shane's words. Shane had handed him his ass on a platter last night, but Shane's words had hurt far more than his physical attack had. Daryl hadn't meant to hurt Carol, but he sure had done a bang up job of it.

He put his leg over the motorcycle and sat himself down slowly. Shit, it even hurt to bend his fucking knees. He pulled in the clutch and shifted into neutral so he could roll the thing down the hill and hoped the momentum would carry him most of the way down and out of the Greene's driveway so he wouldn't have to push it too far before starting it and risking waking anyone with the noise.

Merle had the loudest Vance and Hines pipes he could get on the damned thing and Daryl shook his head and mumbled, "You dumbass attention whore, Merle." Then he felt a little guilty. After all, Merle didn't know that the dead would rise and walk the earth and that they would be attracted by noise, especially _loud _noise, when he put the damned things on the bike.

Daryl was able to coast the bike down a good part of the driveway towards the main roadway and then he pushed it the last hundred or so feet. He mounted it again and took one last look at the map he had in his inside jacket pocket before kick starting the old Triumph to life and heading down the road. He didn't look back once.

His plan was to head about forty miles west to where two small lakes sat deep in forested hills. The lakes were about twelve miles from the nearest town, which was a small town with a population of about two hundred, according to the tourist information so helpfully provided in the map. The first lake, Forest Lake, was part of the Georgia State Parks system and was set up with camping sites, a public beach, fishing access and other amenities for the public.. The second lake, Mirror Lake, was surrounded by privately owned land and there was no public access available. The info on the map indicated that the lake was small at 133 acres, but it was deep, 112 feet and was a spring fed, glacially made lake. It sounded perfect. Daryl planned to see if there were any cottages or houses on the lake and if so, if they were occupied by anyone; well, anyone living. He was hoping that he might be able to find a place to settle into for a while. This place sounded ideal and fit the "Daryl Dixon Perfect Place to Set up Housekeeping" criteria list to a tee: fishing, hunting, peace, quiet, seclusion.

As he rode, and the road rushed under the tires of the Bonneville, his thoughts replayed the events from the day before culminating with his run in with Shane.

* * *

He had killed a deer early yesterday morning and had dragged it back to camp and spent the rest of the morning butchering it. Just because he didn't want to interact with the members of the group didn't mean that he was going to shirk his duties when it came to keeping them fed. He had continued to bring meat into the camp on a daily basis, although it was usually only squirrels or partridges as of late. Hey, fresh meat was fresh meat, right? He had passed the meat off to Maggie and Beth when he was done and had hauled the unusable parts of the carcass out into the woods and buried it. It was a pain in the ass, as the remains had to be buried deep enough so that any predators wouldn't catch the scent of the kill and as Daryl hauled up another shovel full of dirt he wondered why the hell it was his responsibility to dispose of the remains. Hell, he hunted and killed the creature, gutted it, butchered it…the only thing he didn't do was cook the damned thing and what; he was expected to take care of the carcass, too? He sighed. Maybe Merle was right and the others in the group were just using him. Then again, he certainly didn't make himself appear to be any too approachable if anyone had even wanted to assist him. It was the hottest part of the day and sweat matted his hair and ran down his face, dripping off his nose and down his neck. His sleeveless tank was wet with sweat and clung to his back and chest and his sweaty boxers kept riding up into the crack of his ass as he dug.

When he had finished, he swung the shovel over his shoulder and headed back to his camp site. He looked up at the sun and figured it was about three in the afternoon. The air was still and heavy with not even a trace of a breeze. He placed the shovel against the partial ruins of an old stone wall that he had camped near and then ducked into his tent where he pulled a duffle bag out of the corner and rummaged around in it.

Daryl found what he was looking for, an unopened bar of Ivory Soap. He grabbed a clean pair of jeans, some clean skivvies and a blue and black plaid sleeveless shirt from off the two neatly folded small stacks of clothes at the foot of his cot. He emerged from the tent and headed into the woods and down towards where the creek that ran through Hershel's property ended as it emptied into a river.

The creek became deeper and wider, forming a large rounded pool about thirty feet before it met the river and the steep slope along the creek leveled out making it easy to access the pool. There was a pea stone "beach" on both sides of the creek where the water ran deep and it reminded Daryl of an old swimming hole that he had frequented in the summer months as a kid. He placed his clean clothing on a large, flat stone and placed the bar of soap on top of them. He then pulled his sweat soaked undershirt off over his head and dropped it next to the rock. He sat and untied his boots and wrinkled his nose when he pulled the first one off. Wow, what a stink. He could have sworn that he saw actual little stink waves coming out of the damned thing and rolling off his sock covered foot. He got his other boot off and shed his socks and for a second he wondered if walkers could possibly be attracted by the smell of stinky feet, but he shelved that thought almost immediately. He unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his pants and set it on top of his clean clothes, then dropped his pants and stepped out of them. He then pulled his wet with sweat, clingy boxers out of the crack of his ass and hauled them down. He pulled his left foot out of them, but they were damp and clingy and wrapped partially around his right ankle, he hopped around on his left foot, shaking his right ankle to shake them off and they finally came free, flying a few feet through the air and landing where his other dirty clothes sat in a pile. He snatched the soap off his clean clothes and unwrapped the bar, shoving the paper wrapper into the pocket of his clean jeans.

God, he felt gross. Daryl didn't mind being dirty and/sweaty, but there was a line between being dirty and being downright disgustingly "I-could-just-puke-being-near-you" filthy.

He waded out into the water and watched as the dirt on his skin was loosened and partially removed by the current, swirling and sweeping around him, making little dirty clouds in the water. He waded in further until he was in the water chest deep and bent to submerge his head in the cool, clear water. He then stood up straight and shook his head, droplets of water flying everywhere and he started scrubbing the soap into his hair. He massaged his scalp with his fingers as he worked the soap in and could feel the dirt and grime as he worked it out of his hair. He washed his hair twice and the phrase "lather, rinse, repeat", popped into his mind for a second, but was quickly dismissed. It was funny, sometimes, he thought, the stupid shit that popped into his head. After scrubbing the hell out of his skin and especially his feet, he swam quickly to the mouth of the river, chasing after the bar of soap he had accidently let slip from his hands, as it bobbed and bounced, racing to the river. Damned floating soap, he thought. He swam back up the creek near to where he had left his clothes.

Daryl trudged out of the water and stood on the pebbled beach, letting the water run down his chest, arms and legs and drip onto the ground. He could feel his hair on the back of his neck almost to his shoulders and where it tumbled down and stuck to the front of his face, it came down past the tip of his nose. When had his hair gotten so damned long? No wonder he'd sweat like a pig when he was tromping around in the woods. Maybe Shane had the right idea with the whole buzz cut thing he had going on. Daryl scoffed to himself. He could almost hear Merle saying, "Yeah Darleena, you'd look jus' great with a big ol' bald head. Hey, boy, is that a dee-formed lumpy pa-tato sittin' on yer neck or is 'at your head? Hahahaaa!" God, he hated Merle's sadistic laugh. Imaginary Merle laughed and continued to mock him.

He squeezed as much water out of his hair as he could and shook like a dog to get as much water off of him as possible. It felt so good to change into clean clothing, but dammit, he hadn't thought to bring any clean socks and he'd be damned if he was going to put the stiff, filthy and incredibly vile smelling socks that lay on the beach back on his feet. He ended up rinsing his dirty socks out in the water, peeking downstream to see if any fish had died and floated to the surface after being exposed to them. He mentally scolded himself immediately afterward. This wasn't a fucking cartoon. He walked back to his tent barefoot, holding his boots in one hand and his dirty clothes tied up in a ball in the other.

* * *

It was evening and he was sitting alone in his campsite on a log that he had put near the fire for that purpose. The air had cooled off but it was still warm. The sole purpose of the fire was for light and for cooking. He was tired from lack of sleep and from the work that hunting, retrieving and butchering that damned deer had entailed and while the swim and the bath had done him a world of good, it didn't help his fatigue.

He was also half way to being three sheets to the wind. He held a bottle a bit less than half full of amber colored liquid against the log as if to keep it from falling over.

On one of the group's excursions for supplies, he had come across a stash of liquor in the back of one of the cars clogging the highway. T-Dog had been happy to relieve him of the box of bottles, but Daryl had taken one bottle out before handing the box over to be loaded into the RV. Yukon Jack, the bottle's label read; "The Black Sheep of Canadian Liquors", it bragged. 100 proof. Wheee! Well how about that? Daryl had smirked. This was perfect, after all, wasn't he the "black sheep" of their group? He hadn't opened the bottle until last evening and now it was more than half gone. It was damned good stuff, strong with a bite, but a slightly sweet taste to it. He bet it would be great over ice, but ice was a luxury not to be had, well, until winter anyway. He had just put the bottle to his lips again when he heard someone approaching his campsite from the direction of the farm. The steps were heavy, quick and purposeful and he squinted his eyes in the direction of the approaching footsteps. Shane stepped into the light cast by the fire and marched over to where Daryl sat, holding his bottle.

"Well, Daryl, isn't this a nice set up you have here." Shane said. Daryl couldn't tell if he was mocking him or just making conversation. "Sumthin' I can help you with, Shane?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, there is. "

**Yeah, I suck, ending this chapter here. Sorry, but I'll have the next one up soon. Let me know if you love it, hate it, don't really give a hoot etc. Thanks!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to those of you who reviewed. Here is Chapter 2. I hope you like it, but it won't kill me if you don't. (I'll just roll around on the floor and cry for a few minutes, then I'll be fine.) Thanks for stopping by!**

Shane raised an eyebrow as Daryl took another swig of liquor and then looked at Shane expectantly. "Well?" Daryl queried, "are you gonna tell me what's on your mind or are we gonna play twenty questions?" He tilted the bottle up to his lips again and gulped down another swallow of Yukon Jack. It burned his throat going down, but in a good way, if there could be such a thing. Another random thought flashed by: No wonder the Native Americans had called this stuff "fire water".

Shane got a good look at Daryl in the warm glow given off by the fire. His eyes were on the fire and half closed and he sat astride a log next to the fire with one hand on the log. It gave the appearance that Daryl thought he might fall off it at any minute and was using his hand to keep himself balanced. Shane raised his eyebrows as Daryl swayed to the right a bit and then seemed to notice he'd done so and straightened up. He then swayed slightly to the left.

"You're fucking drunk," said Shane as he shot Daryl a condescending look of disgust.

Daryl raised the bottle of Yukon Jack in his left hand and held up his right hand. He spread his index finger about an inch from his thumb, "Just a little bit," he answered, "but I'm workin' on fixin' that. Give me another half hour or so."

"Are you fucking nuts?" Shane shook his head slightly.

"I'm guessin' that's the general consensus," Daryl responded. "Now tell me what the hell you want. I don't 'preciate you crashing my party."

"Fine," Shane sniped, "I'll get right to the point. You haven't taken a watch for over a week and everyone else has had to pick up the slack. You haven't cut or carried wood for anyone but yourself and you know we need to get up a good supply of firewood for the winter. We've got a shitload of haying to do to fill the hayloft for winter, the gardens need tending and we need everyone to help. That includes _you_. What the hell… do you think you're on vacation?"

Daryl's eyes narrowed and he put down the bottle and stood up from where he had been perched on the log. He swayed drunkenly where he stood and pointed a finger at Shane, almost touching the man's nose. "Ffffffuck _you_!" he shouted. "I bust my fuckin' _ass_ to feed you ungrateful assholes and you have the balls ta tell me I'm not pullin' my _weight_?"

"You would be hunting to feed yourself, anyway," Shane shot back. "So don't give me that shit! You also owe Carol a hell of an apology! Man up and get with the fucking program instead of sulking and pouting up here like a spoiled child."

"Whether or not I owe Carol an apology ain't none a your damned business!" Daryl yelled. He frowned and then mumbled, "and I ain't actin' like no spoiled kid."

Shane was furious, "It's _everybody's_ business!" He shouted. "Carol is a wreck and it affects _everyone_! You haven't spoken a word to her since Sophia was found! She thinks _you're_ upset with _her_! The _least_ you can do is apologize to the woman for your fucking _stupidity_!"

"My fuckin' stupidity?"

"_Yes_, you asshole! I'd been saying for _days_ that the search for Carol's girl should be called off; trying to prepare her to accept that her daughter wasn't coming back. Hell, trying to get everyone to pull their heads out of their asses and face the fact that the girl was dead! ….but you, Mr. "Super Tracker Mighty Hunter" go and open your big stupid-ass mouth and spout off some complete bullshit about knowing that she's still alive and she's going to be _fine_! Carol grabbed right on to that! You gave her hope when there was none! Then you bring her that fucking _flower_ and tell her a fairy tale that strings her even further along! What the hell are you, some redneck, inbred sadist? She wasn't prepared in the least for Sophia's death just because you couldn't keep your mouth shut, you worthless piece of _shit_!"

Daryl felt awful and looked at the ground, but then his traitorous mind threw him an image, just for a split second. Why the hell did his brain do shit like this? He'd often wondered. It was sporadic and not a constant thing, these random, detached and ridiculous thoughts (he thought of them as "brain farts"), but this quirk had been getting him in trouble since he was a little kid. Today had been a brain fart field day. First stink waves, then shampoo instructions, thoughts of filthy sock induced dead fish, and now this. Maybe he really was losing his mind, or maybe this particular image was due to the fact that he was just drunker than he thought. The image that flashed in his head was of a clear picture of him in a superman costume, all huge and steroid enhanced. The "S" on the chest had been replaced with "STMH" for Super Tracker Mighty Hunter. He snorted, then giggled, and then burst into laughter.

Shane looked with disbelief at the scumbag doubled over with laughter in front of him and totally lost it. He lunged at Daryl and tackled him, shoving him backward. The back of Daryl's legs caught on the log he had been sitting on earlier and he flew over it backwards. He came down on his back hard with Shane on top of him. It was a sobering experience. Sort of.

Shane pinned Daryl's arms against Daryl's chest with his big hands and leaned forward. He brought his face down just inches above Daryl's and growled, "What the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

Daryl's eyes were wide with surprise, but just for a second, then he glared at Shane. "Get the hell off a' me you asshole! Ain't nothin' wrong with me." He struggled beneath Shane, trying to throw him off. He could feel the dirt and small rocks beneath him grinding into the back of his head.

Daryl was not as big as Shane, Shane was about the same height as Daryl, maybe an inch or so taller, but he outweighed Daryl by at least thirty pounds. He was strong and fit and his police background meant that he was well versed in the art of neutralizing combative adversaries.

Fortunately for Daryl, years of pulling the bowstring had given him unusually well-muscled and strong arms and he was able to use that to his advantage. He pulled his arms out of Shane's grip where they'd been pinned against his chest. His hands free now, he shot a fist up into Shane's face where it caught him right in the nose. There was a dull "crack" and Daryl felt the cartilage give way under his curled hand. For a second he felt a twinge of guilt. Anyone who had ever seen Shane could instantly tell that he'd had his nose broken in the past on more than one occasion.

Shane responded with a blow aimed at Daryl's face, but Daryl caught Shane's fist in both hands and shoved it violently to his right, while pushing his left leg and hip upward with all his strength to try to throw Shane off of him. Shane was unseated and the minute he was free of Shane, Daryl rolled away from him and jumped to his feet.

That wasn't a good idea. The alcohol was catching up with him and the motion of becoming vertical so quickly induced a spell of vertigo. He staggered backward, wind-milling his arms to keep his balance, then fell flat on his ass. He had just scrambled to his feet again when Shane grabbed his left shoulder and spun him around; landing a series of blows to Daryl's left ribs. Three weeks ago while searching for Sophia, Daryl had pulled a bolt out of his left side and the stitches had been taken out just a week ago. The spot was still sore and Daryl wondered if Shane was actually going for this area on purpose. He gasped at the sudden sharp pain and threw out his right leg, kicking as hard as he could and catching Shane square in the stomach.

Shane bent over to clutch his belly, not prepared for the strike at all and Daryl brought his elbow down hard on the back of Shane's neck. Shane lost his balance and went down and Daryl leaped onto him, grabbing Shane by the back of the neck. He pushed Shane's face into the dirt with both hands fisted in the back of Shane's shirt collar as he sat on Shane's back, digging his knees into Shane's shoulder blades. "How do you like this?" he shouted. "Hows that dirt taste, you fuckin' fuck!?" He pulled Shane's head up and slammed it into the ground again. Dirt and dust was flying everywhere.

As Daryl released Shane's head, Shane suddenly bucked upward and rolled sideways, effectively dislodging Daryl from his back. Both men got to their feet at about the same time and stood crouched in a fighter's stance about five feet apart, facing one another. Shane's face was scratched and dirty and his nose was leaking blood. It ran in two scarlet streams down to his mouth and onto his chin. Daryl notice that Shane's poor, abused nose also appeared to be off center and to the right a bit. This observation made him want to laugh again, but he controlled the urge to do so.

"Look, man", Shane said in a surprisingly calm voice. "I didn't mean to go off on you like that. It's just that we really need your help getting things ready for the coming winter and it would be nice if you'd make peace with Carol."

Daryl stayed crouched and as alert as he could be with the amount of liquor he'd put away. He narrowed his eyes and chewed on his bottom lip for a second. "Maybe I'll think about it" he said with an air of indifference, "and maybe I won't."

Shane stood up straight and backed up a couple of feet, putting his hands up in an "I'm backing off now" gesture. "Whatever, man." He turned and started walking away and Daryl breathed a quiet sigh of relief and stood up from his crouched position. He started brushing the dirt off his shirt and his no longer clean jeans with his hands.

Before he'd reached the edge of the circle where the firelight kept the darkness at bay, Shane turned quickly and looked at Daryl. "What the hell were you laughing at, anyway? "He asked. "You think it's funny that Carol thinks you're upset with her? You think it's funny that she's falling apart? Laugh about that again and I swear, I'll fucking kill you."

"Kill me?" Daryl said quietly, "Why? You didn't meet your quota when you killed Otis?"

Shane glared at Daryl and strode toward him, sternly pointing a finger at him. "I did _not_ kill Otis, he knew he wasn't gonna make it and he covered me and told me to leave him! He told me to save Carl!" he growled.

Daryl glanced at the fire and then settled his gaze back on Shane. "I wan't born yesterday, Shane. You came back with Rick's gun. The gun he'd given to Otis. If Otis was fire'n the gun to draw off the walkers like you said so you could escape, how did you end up with it? I ain't stupid and neither is Rick. He'll figure it out when he gets a moment to think about it. Tell you what, why don't we go right down there right now, you an' me, and we can discuss the whole matter with 'im. Whatcha think?"

"I think you're not going to be telling Rick a damned thing," Shane said in a quiet and eerily calm voice.

"Is that so?" Daryl stared at Shane and shook his head. "Does Rick know 'bout you an' Lori? Does he know his best friend was put'in it to his wife every chance you got? Does he know that the baby Lori's carryin' more than likely ain't his? That "Uncle Shane" is really the baby daddy? Doncha think he's got a right to know these things? 'Cause I sure as hell do."

Shane looked at the ground for a second, and then looked back up at Daryl. His brown eyes were cold and hard and in a calm and steady voice he said, "Like I said, you're not going to be telling Rick a damned thing. Not if you know what's good for you."

Daryl regarded the other man for a minute. He had suspected for some time that Shane was losing his mind. Now he had confirmation. 'That's a Bingo!' he thought.

With the return of Rick, Shane had lost both the leadership of the group and Lori. Of course he was losing it. Rick was his best friend and now his best friend was also his worst enemy, having stripped him of all that was important to him.

Daryl suddenly realized just how very dangerous Shane was, but his mouth was off and running before his brain could rein it in. "Is that a threat, Walsh? 'Cause I don't take kindly to threats."

Shane charged him then and even though he was feeling the effects of that damned 100 proof booze he'd been guzzling, Daryl was easily able to maneuver out of Shane's way and shuffled around to the opposite side of the fire. "You're fuckin' nuts!" Daryl yelled as he looked through the fire at the man glaring back at him. Daryl thought Shane looked totally insane. He was dirty, his face was bloody and his eyes looked wild, like he had fallen off the edge of reason and was just drowning in anger and hate.

"Are you going to keep your mouth shut about things that don't concern you?!" Shane yelled back.

"Fuck you!" Daryl retorted. His eyes widened as Shane came straight through the fire like a shot and shoved him, hard. Daryl flew back into the neatly stacked pile of firewood he'd collected and it toppled over, spilling chunks of firewood onto him. He brought up his arms to protect his head and his face, but thankfully most of the falling wood pieces pummeled his legs. Shane was there hauling him to his feet and as he pulled Daryl in closer to him to land a fist to his head, Daryl used the momentum and brought up his knee hard right between Shane's legs.

"_Augh_!" Shane shrieked as he doubled over. As Shane slipped to his knees, his hands shot out and he grabbed Daryl's right leg and hauled up on it. Daryl lost his balance and went down on his back and Shane landed on top of him. "Fucking dirty fighter," Shane spit. He drove his fist into Daryl's left side above his hip and Daryl knew Shane was purposefully hitting him where it would hurt the most. Fists and feet were flying as each man tried to overpower the other. Dirt and gravel flew, and soon the sweat covered men were both caked in a thin coating of grime

Daryl could brawl with the best of them, but his earlier quest to get blasted on Yukon Jack had him at a disadvantage. He wasn't moving as fast or landing punches as accurately as he normally would. His left side was throbbing and his legs hurt where the chunks of wood had fallen on them. The blows that Shane had landed on him ached, but he had landed some decent blows on Shane as well. Shane was just getting in better shots and more of them. He and Shane were both yelling and flailing about and panting and heaving to catch their breath between blows.

Thinking about it later, Daryl was surprised that their fight hadn't attracted every walker for miles. He had wondered why no one from the farmhouse had come to see what was going on. Certainly they could hear the ruckus. He bitterly decided that it was just more proof of the fact that none of them gave a shit about him or what happened to him.

Then Shane was behind him and had him on his knees in a choke hold headlock. This time, though, his arms were locked in place by Shane's strong legs. Shit. Here we go again, he thought. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to break free from this. He struggled and Shane only tightened his grip; the more he struggled, the tighter Shane's arm squeezed his throat. Daryl couldn't breathe. His lungs felt like they were on fire, so Daryl closed his eyes and concentrated on making himself relax.

As Daryl's struggling slowed and then stopped, signaling a willingness to cooperate, Shane crooned into his ear, "That's it, just relax. Everything is going to be okay. You just need to listen to Shane, you hear?"

Daryl was seeing spots before his eyes and his chest was heaving, his lungs screaming out for air. He nodded as well as he could and Shane loosened his arm. Daryl gratefully sucked in air and breathed heavily.

"So," Shane said in the calm policeman voice he had used on the job to diffuse situations before the world went to hell, "I'm going to talk and you're going to listen. Is that understood?" Daryl nodded his trapped head again.

"You are not going to say a damned thing to Rick about anything. You don't mention Otis, you don't mention Lori, you don't mention Lori's baby."

Daryl didn't move. Shane's calm voice whispered in his ear, "Do you understand?"

Bullshit on this, Daryl thought. Shane was nuttier than a fruitcake and Rick had a right to know what had gone on.

"Daryl," Shane repeated a bit louder now, "_Do_ you _understand_?"

Daryl took a deep breath and mumbled, "Fuck you."

The pressure on his throat immediately increased, cutting off his air.

"Daryl," Shane said into his ear, "Just agree. Just agree that you'll keep your mouth shut. That won't be so hard; you've made it clear that you don't want anything to do with the group, anyway. Can you do that, can you agree to keep it quiet? Just say the word and I'll let up."

Daryl choked out "No" and felt Shane's arm tighten even more against his neck. His body panicked and he bucked and strained wildly trying to break free of Shane's grip.

Shane pleaded with Daryl to just agree, just say he'd keep quiet and he'd let him loose, he'd let him breathe. He whispered and spoke softly into Daryl's ear, just say the word, it will be easy. Daryl's head was pounding and his lungs tightened in his chest as he thrashed and strained against Shane's hold on him. His could feel his heart racing and his pulse pounded in his neck and in his ears.

Shane's arm still denied him the ability to breathe. God, why was he so damned stubborn?

Shane couldn't believe how damned stubborn the stupid redneck was. Shane had _always_ been able to force compliance with this particular choke hold. He was assessing his options and trying to figure out an alternative plan when he felt Daryl stop jerking and fighting him. A spasm rocked Daryl's body and then Shane felt the redneck go limp in his grip.

Shane held his position, not letting up on Daryl's neck. He had to think. Damn, he really didn't want to kill Daryl. I mean, gee, how hard would it be to figure out that he had done it? He supposed he could haul Daryl off into the woods and hope that a walker found him, but that could be an iffy proposition.

He released Daryl from the hold and slid backward, easing Daryl onto his back. Daryl had started breathing the minute Shane had released him and his blue lips had already started to regain their color. Shane tapped Daryl's right cheek and then his left. "Hey, Daryl," he said. There was no response. Shane grabbed Daryl's shoulders and shook him, "C'mon you stubborn asshole." The stupid redneck was out cold. Shane stood up then and positioned himself at Daryl's head. He bent over and gripped Daryl under his arms then he walked backward, dragging Daryl towards his tent. Outside Daryl's tent, Shane again bent over Daryl and tapped at his face. He was still unresponsive. Shane unzipped Daryl's tent and crawled inside, and then pulled Daryl in after him.

It was darker in the tent as the fabric was too heavy for the firelight to penetrate. Shane let his eyes adjust to the darker environment but it was still difficult to see anything. He felt around near the top of where Daryl's sleeping bag was arranged and found what he was looking for. He flicked the flashlight on and shone it in Daryl's face, planning to check Daryl's pupils. Shane startled when Daryl squinted and turned his head away from him and the light.

The idiot was awake. Shane felt a wave of relief surge over him, but he remained stoic and cold as he stared down at Daryl. Shane could see the bruises on Daryl's neck appearing right before his eyes as he stood with the flashlight on the side of Daryl's face.

Shane leaned over and spoke, "Daryl, I don't want to hurt you,"

Daryl snorted. "No," he whispered hoarsely, "you wanna _kill_ me."

"Daryl," Shane said matter of factly, "if I'd wanted to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now. Now I want you to think hard before you go running your mouth to anyone about anything. It would be a real pity to lose you to a walker in the woods, don't you think?" Shane gave Daryl a sympathetic look and reached over and patted Daryl on the shoulder. Daryl pulled away from Shane's touch and Shane crawled out of the tent, zipping it up behind him.

Daryl lay there, his mind racing. His body ached all over and his head felt like his brain was trying to vacate the premises by boring several holes through his skull. What the hell was he going to do? Shane could, Shane _would_ kill him if he approached Rick. As clarity of thought returned, Daryl realized that now that Shane knew Daryl was onto him about the whole Otis situation (and after Daryl had spilled his stupid guts about how he'd figured it out, Shane hadn't denied it, had he? No, he hadn't!) Shane probably wouldn't wait very long to make sure that Daryl kept his secret.

Then it hit him. He'd just leave. He'd been thinking about it anyway and this was a perfect time to disappear. It would solve a multitude of problems. He'd sleep first, he decided. He'd sleep and then pull out the map he had looked at last week. The one with the two lakes. He had been thinking about taking a ride down to just check them out, anyway. He closed his eyes and sighed. Was this headache due to lack of oxygen or the Yukon Jack? Maybe a bit of both? Before sleep took him he cursed the fact that his bath in the creek earlier that day had been for naught.


	3. Chapter 3

Rick stepped out onto the porch of the Greene's farmhouse holding a huge mug filled with coffee. The morning mist that hung over the surrounding pastures was evaporating as the sun climbed higher in the sky. The air was already getting hot and sticky.

Rick sat on the front steps and sipped his coffee. A small smile played about on his lips. A good cup of coffee was one of life's little pleasures. It was something he had taken for granted for years. Now as he sipped the lukewarm brew, pale tan in color as he just couldn't help himself when Maggie offered him the pitcher of fresh cream, his appreciation for the beverage reached a new level. He had poured a lot of cream into his coffee and Maggie had raised her eyebrows and smiled, jokingly asking him if he he'd like some coffee and sugar to go in his cream. He looked down at the lower pasture where the four dairy cows had assembled after their morning trek into the barn for milking and he raised his mug to them and called out, "Thanks, girls."

"You're crazy, Dad," Carl's voice giggled behind him.

"Not crazy," Rick turned to Carl and patted the step next to him, inviting Carl to sit down, "just appreciative."

Carl sat down next to his dad. He held a huge blueberry muffin wrapped in a napkin in one hand and a tall glass of milk in the other. He took a sip of his milk, and then chugged down half a glass of it. He wiped the milk mustache from his upper lip with his sleeve then raised his glass towards the lower pasture and called out, "Thanks, girls, good job!" Rick leaned towards him and bumped shoulders with him-.

"So Dad…" Carl began with his mouth full of muffin.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Rick reminded him.

Carl swallowed and drank some more milk to wash the large piece of muffin down. "So Dad…" he repeated, "I heard Shane and Daryl arguing last night. They sounded pretty mad."

* * *

Carl had spent the night with Glenn and T-Dog. It had been a blast with the culmination of the evening being a no holds barred pillow fight which ended abruptly when T-Dog had swung a pillow at Glenn and lost his balance, crashing into the tent wall and collapsing the tent on all of them. They had all laughed and giggled as they untangled themselves from the tent, then out came the duct tape and twenty minutes later the tent was up again. Carl loved hanging out with Glenn and T-Dog. They were a lot of fun and it made him feel so grown up.

The three of them were all tired after the pillow-fight-tent-collapse incident and as he lay in his sleeping bag in the dark, Carl heard angry voices drifting down from the little knoll where Daryl had relocated a little over a week before. Carl could make out Shane's voice and Daryl's, but he couldn't hear what they were saying. He sat up in his sleeping bag and cocked his head, trying to make out the words. "Let it be," T-Dog's voice said to him in the dark. Carl started to protest, but T-Dog shushed him, "It's none of our business."

"But what if someone gets hurt?" Carl asked. He was worried.

T-Dog chuckled. "Daryl and Shane can take care of themselves probably better than anyone in this group. Don't worry about them. Probably just blowing off steam."

Carl pondered this for a moment, then said "Daryl and Shane have both been really grumpy lately."

"They've probably both got SBU," Glenn observed. T-Dog burst out laughing at this.

"What's SBU?" Carl asked. Glenn rolled onto his side to face Carl and propped himself up on one of his elbows.

In the darkness, Carl could see Glenn's outline against the wall of the tent. "Have you ever heard of a female affliction called PMS?" Glenn asked him.

"Yeah," said Carl. "I can always tell when Mom is having her period because she gets really cranky."

"Well," Glenn explained, "SBU is the male version of PMS."

"Oh", Carl said, still confused. "What does SBU stand for?"

T-Dog laughed a hearty laugh "Yeah, Glenn, what does SBU stand for?"

"You'll have to ask your dad, "Glenn told Carl.

"Awww, gee, you can tell me. I don't want to ask my dad."

Glenn rolled over, away from Carl and repeated. "Ask your Dad, I'm sure he'd be happy to explain it to you."

* * *

Carl remembered this and turned to his father. "Dad?" he asked, "What's SBU?"

Rick had just taken a mouthful of coffee and he choked on it and coughed, spraying it out of his mouth and nose. "What? Who said anything about SBU?"

"I heard Daryl and Shane arguing last night and T-Dog and Glenn said that they probably are grumpy because they have SBU," explained Carl.

Rick grinned. "Is that so? Well, I suppose that could be a valid theory.."

"Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad," Carl moaned,"stop goofing around and just tell me!"

Rick wanted to tell Carl to go ask his mother, but then decided that this was a question best answered by him, so he explained it to Carl. Carl, once blessed with this information, blushed and giggled.

Carl had gone back inside to retrieve another muffin and Rick decided to head around the back of the house to see how the garden was looking. People were still eating breakfast and going about their morning routines and the sounds of lively conversation and laughter drifted out the kitchen window as he passed by it. He glanced up to the knoll where Daryl had exiled himself and did a double take. Daryl's tent was gone. The rope he'd strung between two trees to hang his laundry and his pelts on was gone. Merle's motorcycle was gone. Daryl was gone.

Rick did an about face and headed for the back door that opened into the kitchen. He tilted his coffee mug up to his lips and finished his coffee as he came through the door. Andrea, Maggie, Beth and Glen were sitting at the table in the breakfast nook, engaged in lively conversation. "Is Shane in here?" Rick asked.

The four people at the table all looked at each other and then at Rick, "No," Andrea answered, "I haven't seen him yet this morning. Is something wrong?"

"Yeah," Rick replied and Andrea thought that his voice sounded so tired, "Daryl's gone."

"What? Why?" stammered Glenn.

"He's gone?" Andrea looked concerned.

"All of his gear is gone, "Rick explained, "His motorcycle's gone. I know he's been avoiding us and that he was really devastated by the whole Sophia situation, but I figured he just needed some time alone to sort through things and then he'd move back down with here with us. Shane went up to see him last night and was arguing with him. I want to know if Daryl said anything to him about wanting to leave."

"I heard them arguing, too," Andrea said as she bit her lip and stared at her coffee mug.

"Who didn't?" replied Glenn. He took his baseball cap off and turned it over in his hands, studying it as he spoke, "I was afraid they'd bring in walkers, but it quieted down after a while. I heard Shane walk by our tent headed to his about twenty minutes after things had apparently settled down. "

"Settled down?" Maggie asked and smiled at him, "I hear that things were pretty wild in your tent last night, too."

"Yes," Rick said giving Glenn an evil look, "that reminds me, Glenn. We need to have a discussion a bit later regarding the introduction of a certain acronym to my son."

Glenn looked up at Rick with wide eyes and said, "Wait, what?" Rick smiled, raised his eyebrows and nodded at Glenn. Glenn smiled back at him. Shit he was in trouble now.

* * *

Rick hurried down the porch steps and headed to where all the tents but Daryl's were set up in a semi-circle around the RV. It was a convenient set up, and the arrangement insured that when the RV was driven into the center of the semi-circle of tents in the evening, whoever was on watch at night had a 360 degree view of all the tents.

Rick made his way over to Shane's tent. He guessed it was about 9am and he stood outside the entrance of the tent and called out to Shane. He got no answer. "Shane!" he said louder. He heard a muffled groan from inside the tent and the squeaking of a Shane's cot as he shifted himself in it. "Shane!" Rick said even louder, "I need to talk to you!"

"Mmmmph, "came the reply from inside the tent.

"I need to talk to you _now_, Shane." Rick insisted.

Rick heard a muffled sigh, then Shane's tired sounding voice, "Fine, come in. But don't expect me to be getting up just yet. You know I like to sleep in on Saturdays."

Rick fumbled for the zipper on the door of the tent, unzipped it and let himself into Shane's tent. Shane was on his cot, facing one of the walls of his tent. He had a thin sheet pulled up around his shoulders and Rick could see from the way it laid across him that he was in his underwear. It was hot and Rick was quite sure that everyone had slept in their underwear that previous night, or in nothing at all.

"Shane," Rick began quietly, "what the hell happened between you and Daryl last night?"

Shane sighed. "What did he tell you happened?" he mumbled.

"He didn't tell me anything. Now it's too late to ask him." Rick said, "He's gone. You were the last person with him. I thought maybe you'd have an idea about what happened."

Shane's eye grew big as he stared at the tent wall in front of him. Holy shit, he'd killed the redneck? What the hell had happened? Had he had an aneurysm after Shane had left him alone? A heart attack? Did a walker get him? Had he turned? Was everyone else okay? His mind raced. Look at the bright side, he thought suddenly; problem solved. He didn't need to worry about Daryl running his big yap to Rick now, did he?

"Shane," Rick said after Shane didn't respond to his question, "turn around and talk to me!" Rick then leaned forward toward where his friend's head rested on his pillow. It was then that he notice that there were scrapes and small cuts and dirt on the back of Shane's head and neck.

"He was fine when I last saw him, "Shane grumbled.

Rick leaned in closer to Shane and took him by the shoulder and Shane turned and looked at Rick. Rick exhaled audibly and lowered his eyes for a moment. He put his elbows on his knees and rubbed his stubble covered chin with his both hands, and then he looked up at his friend. "Shane," he said quietly. "What the hell happened?"

To say Rick was shocked by Shane's appearance would be overstating things. Rick had seen Shane in worse shape, hell, he'd been in worse shape himself when some of the brawls they'd been called out to while they were on duty happened to escalate rather than disperse once the police arrived . Shane's nose was swollen (although he had reset it so it faced straight ahead where it belonged) and his right cheek and his chin were bruised. He had a multitude of small scratches and cuts on his face and his lower and upper lip were both split open.

Shane swung his legs over the side of the cot and sat facing Rick. "You've gotta believe me, Rick, he was fine the last time I saw him. He'd been drinking and we got into a bit of a disagreement, but he was fine when I left him.

"Did he mention anything about leaving?" Rick asked, his blue eyes meeting Shane's brown ones. Rick thought he saw a flash of confusion in Shane's eyes for just a second, and then it was gone.

Rick's last comment had been a revelation for Shane. Daryl wasn't dead, he'd left!

Shit, thought Shane, had he left a note for Rick? For anyone? Hell, could he even write? Did he leave a note exposing Shane's secrets and the just up and leave? Shane almost asked Rick if Daryl had left a note, and for a second his mind raced as he imagined Rick pulling a crumpled note written in black crayon out of his pocket and saying, "I've got it right here, let's read it together , shall we? Here we go (ahem) ' You guys suck and I hate y'all. I'm outta here. - Daryl P.S. Rick: Shane killed Otis, he's fuckin' your wife and the kid she's carryin' is his. Have a nice day.'

Shane bit his tongue at that last thought and for a second he thought he understood why Daryl had laughed the night before at what Shane had felt was a most inappropriate moment. "No," Shane said, truthfully. "He didn't mention a word about leaving."

Rick studied his friend. "Everyone in camp heard the two of you arguing. What did you go up there for? What did you say to him?"

Shane ran his hand over his closely shorn head and sighed. "I told him that he needed to pull his head out of his ass, to stop pouting and to start being part of the group again. I told him he needed to start keeping watch and helping us with wood and the haying and…"

"Are you _serious_?" Rick interrupted. Shane stared at Rick with a perplexed look on his face and nodded, "Yeah, totally serious," he said.

Rick scoffed. "Do you know what Daryl did yesterday? While we were all still sleeping in our tents, he was out tracking a deer. He tracked it, killed it, gutted it, brought it back here by himself and then skinned and butchered it. _Then_ he buried the parts that aren't edible. All in 90 degree plus weather. That was more than a full 8 hours of hard work to feed all of US, and you want him to help with the wood and the haying? The way he pushes himself, I'm surprised some days that the man is still upright and walking around! "

Rick sighed again and reached over and put his hand on Shane's shoulder. "Hey man," he said, "I'm sorry. I know you were just trying to look out for all of us and I really do appreciate that. I just think you made the wrong call this time." Rick was quiet for a moment. He closed his eyes like he was in deep thought and then opened them and looked at Shane. Shane looked remorseful and was quiet. "So," Rick said, "if you came out of that fight looking like this, I don't think I even want to know what Daryl looks like today. Do you think he was in any shape to be riding a motorcycle?"

Shane looked up and looked Rick right in the eye. "I told you, Rick, "he said "He was fine when I last saw him."

Rick nodded and stood up. "We all need to sit down at lunch today and discuss this and figure out what we're going to do."

Shane looked confused. "Do?" he asked, "do about what?"

Rick turned to leave and said over his shoulder, "About finding Daryl and getting him back here."

**Wheeeeee! I can't believe I've popped out three chapters in three days, but this is SO much FUN to write. Thanks for reviewing and I'm sorry if anyone was offended by the SBU reference (Sperm Back-Up for those out there not in the know..)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you for reading and welcome to Chapter 4. I'm new at this, so bear with me as I'm still learning. I've italicized "flashbacks" this time. I hope that helps things make more sense. **

Daryl shifted the Bonneville into second gear as he slowed to assess the blocked roadway up ahead. A tractor trailer hauling logs had jackknifed after hitting a car carrier and then its load had broken free. There were logs scattered across the highway and a brief childhood memory came to Daryl's mind. He had been about five years old at the time and had built a cabin with Lincoln logs. Merle had waited until he was done before he gave it a good kick and sent the little logs flying. Daryl frowned at the memory. "Asshole," he mumbled.

He shifted into first, brought the bike to a halt, parked it and stiffly dismounted. It had taken him four hours and he had only put about 30 miles behind him. The going had been slow and this was the fourth blockage of the roadway that he had come upon. The last one had been the worst one. It had taken him almost two hours to move seven cars to make a path for the motorcycle to pass through.

He had flirted with the idea of driving off with the big, black Cadillac Escalade that was among the vehicles in the last highway tangle up, but when he opened the door to check for keys, the stench of the decomposing body in the back seat hit him like a wave. It was so incredibly vile that he had turned away and doubled over, retching. Of course it was bad. It had been hot and the windows of the vehicle were rolled up. It was probably more than a hundred degrees in that car. He had quickly slammed the Escalade's door and leaned against it as he hung his head and puked. When he was done, he pulled a rag out of his back pocket to wipe his mouth but before he had a chance to do so, he was vomiting again. His throat had burned as the alcohol that had not fully metabolized came up along with the venison jerky he'd eaten earlier that morning.

"Well, that wan't too smart." He'd mumbled to himself. "S' too bad, too. Woulda been a nice ride."

The approaching sound of moaning and shuffling footfalls had caused him to turn his attention from his rebelling stomach and the mess he had just deposited on the pavement to the approaching walker and he'd reached for the crossbow slung over his shoulder. He brought the bow up, aimed and fired, putting the bolt right into the middle of the large bald male walker's forehead. As he steadied the walker with his foot to extract the bolt, he heard another moan and looked over his shoulder. Another large bald male walker was approaching and he dispatched it in identical fashion. The two walkers were similar in appearance and Daryl wondered for a second if they had been related before they died and then arose as eaters of flesh.

He stepped around and over logs, searching for a passage through the log littered roadway. He caught his pant leg on a log where a branch had once been and he tripped and fell sideways, smacking the side of his head against a Honda Accord. He sat up and rubbed his hand on his head where it had hit the car and checked for blood. There was none and and he was glad of that. The logs were large and long, and as strong as he was, he knew that there was no way in hell that he would even be able to budge them. He climbed up onto the overturned cab of the logging truck, figuring that from that height he'd get a better view of what was up ahead. The sun was bright and hot and the heat seemed to roll off the pavement and the sun baked vehicles in waves. He shielded his eyes as he scanned the roadway ahead. Beyond this clusterfuck the roadway was clear as far as he could see up the highway. He unbuttoned his red plaid sleeveless shirt, slid out of it and tied it around his waist. His undershirt was starting to become damp with sweat and he could feel the sweat dripping down his face and neck.

He looked back at where Merle's bike was parked. There was no way in hell he was going to be able to get the bike through this blockage unless he commandeered some heavy equipment and cleared a path or pulled an Evel Kenievel and jumped the vehicles and neither of those scenarios were very likely to happen. The guardrails on both sides of the roadway through this section of highway made it impossible for him to drive around the blockage. He sat down cross-legged on the overturned cab and took his canteen off from around his neck as he surveyed the wreckage around him. He sighed and took a large gulp of water, and then another and tried to come up with a plan.

The way he saw it, he had three options. 1. Check the map and see if he had bypassed any secondary roads that would take him out to the lakes or 2. Leave the bike and walk, or 3. try to find a usable vehicle on the other side of the blockage and leave the Triumph Bonneville where it was parked. He really didn't want to do that. After all, it was Merle's motorcycle and it was all he had left of Merle. Merle was an asshole, but he was still his brother.

Daryl yawned and rubbed his eyes. Earlier that morning he'd been startled when he had caught a glimpse of his face in one of the Bonneville's mirrors. The whites of his eyes were blood red. When Shane was choking the shit of him, the pressure had caused the small capillaries in his eyes to rupture. He was familiar with this phenomenon as he'd had the same thing happen on occasions where his eye had been blackened in past altercations. The contrast between the bright red corneas and the pale blue irises of his eyes was striking. "They almost look like a walker's eyes," he thought.

Shane had only hit him in the face a couple of times, and had missed his eyes completely, but he had a large bruise covering his right cheek down to his jawline and a gash with an accompanying bruise on his forehead. His neck was totally black and blue and red and it hurt to swallow. He wondered how Shane was feeling today.

Daryl yawned again and suddenly he wished he hadn't taken that Oxycontin earlier that day. He'd take one tonight, if he was able to find a safe place to sleep. He'd take one tonight and hoped it would keep the nightmares at bay.

_Daryl had managed to pull himself up onto his cot and had fallen asleep despite having a helluva headache after Shane had left him alone and slightly disoriented in his tent. _

_He had awakened with a start two hours later from a dream where he was wandering in the woods, dragging himself along; a bolt protruding from his left side right above his waist where it had impaled him. The pain was so intense and he was weak and tired and lost. The feeling of helplessness was overwhelming. _

_Suddenly Andrea was there and he found himself looking down the barrel of Dale's 30-06 rifle as she held it. "Why?" he asked her._

_"You're a walker." She replied, and he saw her move to pull the trigger before he could protest. He heard the deafening roar of a gunshot and then he was sitting up on his cot, eyes wide, sweat rolling off his face and body._

_ It took him a second to realize he was in his tent. He hadn't been shot and there was no bolt stuck in him. So why did the patched up area where he had removed the arrow hurt so much? He carefully inspected the previously stitched area and while it was blanketed with a huge purple –red bruise, the healed skin was fine and nothing there was bleeding. Damn, but it hurt. _

_He sighed and stiffly slid off his cot. He crawled to a corner of his tent and found one of his duffle bags. After rummaging around in it a bit, he found what he was looking for, the bottle of Oxycontin that had been part of Merle's "secret stash". He resisted taking two and had given himself fifteen minutes to let the one he took start working before he started to pack up to leave. _

_He was going to restack the wood pile before he left, but decided against it. The others could use the wood and they would just be hauling it down the hill anyway, so what was the point. He left his ax, his shovel, and hanging from one of each tines of a deer antler he had nailed on a tree behind his tent, two incredibly foul smelling socks. _

He decided to walk to the end of the traffic jam and see what was available for drivable vehicles, just in case he was unable to find a back way to the lakes and had to leave Merle's bike behind. He held his crossbow out in front of him, bolt engaged and ready to be fired at a second's notice. It was with some difficulty that he made his way around cars and trucks towards the end of the road block. There were no walkers but he found a few bodies that walkers had fed on as they were not much more than bones. He passed by the front of the last vehicle in the traffic jam, a big white Fed Ex box truck, cautiously to have a look behind it. He raised his eyebrows and a smile played on his lips as he discovered what the box truck had been blocking from his view.

Leaning against the Fed Ex truck, in the small rectangle of shade it provided, was a blacked out Harley Davidson Fat Boy. It had tipped over, and would have been on the ground if its fall hadn't been intercepted by the truck. Daryl's little smile broke into a full grin. The bike was decked out with saddlebags and a sissy bar luggage sack bulging with someone's possessions. There was a bedroll and what he recognized as a tent bag rolled up and secured on the rack beneath the sissy bar luggage sack. He walked towards the bike, sure it was probably a mirage or something like that and that it would disappear right before his eyes. It didn't. The key was in the ignition. He pulled the bike upright and away from where it leaned on the truck, pulled the clutch in and walked it a few feet away. He then straddled the bike, put it in neutral, pulled the choke out, turned the key, and then pushed the start button. He was sure it wouldn't start; it had probably been sitting there for almost two months. The engine roared to life. He shut it off immediately.

He sat there on the bike and considered his options. In the end, he decided that there really was only one thing to do. As much as he cared for Merle and as much as he hated to do it, he would leave Merle's bike behind and continue on with this one. He would have to carry his belongings from Merle's bike to this one and that would take at least a couple of trips, but he would leave his tent and his sleeping bag behind, too. That would mean less to carry from Merle's bike to this one. The saddlebags were locked and Daryl unlocked them with the small key on the ring with the key to the ignition. He felt guilty about pawing through someone else's belongings, but he pushed the guilty feelings away, telling himself that the previous owner of this bike and the saddlebags was probably miles away, walking around and looking for something or someone to eat.

The saddlebags had done a great job of keeping the belongings stowed in them dry. The first saddlebag he opened was packed with canned goods, a six pack of Dr. Pepper and two boxes of Oreo cookies. Daryl couldn't believe his luck as he grabbed a Dr. Pepper and ripped into a box of cookies. He shoved two of the cookies into his mouth at once. They were stale but he didn't care. He closed his eyes and smiled. "MMMMMMMMMMMMmmm…."

He'd loved these when he was a kid. He chased the cookies with the can of soda. He hadn't realized how hungry he was. He twisted the next cookie apart and ate the frosting in the center first, scraping it off the chocolate wafers with his teeth and then licking the remainder before popping the chocolate wafers into his mouth. The next seven cookies he ate got the same treatment and soon chocolate cookie crumbs littered the scruffy facial hair around his mouth and on his chin. He limited himself to ten cookies and then put the box back in the saddlebag and delved into the bag on the other side of the bike. This saddlebag held an LED Coleman camping lantern, utensils, a blanket and a small pillow and at the very bottom two Ruger Blackhawk .44s still in the boxes, a leather double holster and four boxes of ammo.

He was downright giddy, and did that high pitched squee-like noise he just heard actually come from him? Yes. Yes it did. He ran his hands through his sweaty hair and shook his head. This couldn't be possible. It was like a fucking genie had appeared and offered to grant him three wishes.

He opened one of the Ruger boxes to inspect the firearm. "Holy fuckin' Clint Eastwood," he mumbled. It looked like an old six-shooter, from the polished, curved wood handgrips right down to the to the 6 bullet cylinder. He took a deep breath and then exhaled. He ran his fingers lovingly across the gun's cold metal barrel. This was fucking amazing. He returned the pistol to its box and the box to the saddlebag.

He unsnapped the sissy bar luggage bag from the sissy bar and sat on the pavement against the tire of the Fed ex truck with the bag between his legs. He was hot, but the truck afforded some shade and the pavement beneath his butt was almost cool. He unsnapped and then unzipped the bag and then started to extract clothing from it. Two pairs of jeans. He checked the size. 38" waist. Way too big. Daryl had narrow hips and wore a 32" before the universal shit hit the fan. He was thinner now and a 32" was now plenty loose. Thank God for belts. There was a Levis denim jacket that looked like it would fit, two unopened packages of white cotton socks, several large t-shirts, two packages of Fruit of the Loom briefs, a shaving kit, shampoo, three bars of Ivory soap and a pair of Tasmanian devil slippers.

Daryl put everything he wasn't going to keep in a pile on the ground next to him and repacked the jacket, the socks, the shaving kit, the ivory soap and the Tasmanian devil slippers.

He stood up and stepped out of the shade of the Fed Ex truck to walk back to where he had parked Merle's bike. The heat was stifling and the sweat popped up again on Daryl's forehead. By the time he'd reached Merle's Bonneville, it was dripping off his nose, down his chest and his undershirt was soaked with sweat and plastered to his torso.

He didn't bother to remove the tent bag or his bedroll from where he had secured them to Merle's motorcycle. He didn't need them anymore. He grabbed the bundle of bolts he had carved. He had worked hard to make sure they were straight and well balanced and they still needed fletching. He had wrapped them in a piece of tanned deer hide and tied it securely with rawhide strings.

He untied two duffle bags from Merle's Bonneville and went through them both, leaving behind what he didn't need. He ended up making two trips in order to get everything he felt was necessary from Merle's bike to his bike. He took a long look at Merle's Triumph Bonneville. It had been Merle's pride and joy. The one thing in his life that Merle had actually taken pride in and taken care of. Daryl wiped the sweat from his forehead and then chewed on his right thumbnail. The realization that Merle had cared more for and taken better care of his damned motorcycle than he had his own brother suddenly hit Daryl and he was surprised at how much it hurt.

He drained the gas out of the Bonneville into an empty windshield wash jug and left whatever he had decided not to remove from the saddlebags on the ground around it. To hell with repacking it. He'd gotten about thirty feet from Merle's bike as he was headed away from it for the last time when he realized he still had the key to it in his pocket. He put down his load and fumbled around in the right front pocket of his jeans and found the key. It was on a keychain with a Nazi insignia burned into a disk made of leather. Daryl looked at the key for a long moment, and then threw it towards the Triumph. He saw it land about five feet in front of it and figured that was good enough. He retrieved his bags and turned away from Merle's bike and headed to where his was parked.

He had done it. He had left the group behind him and he had broken his final tie with Merle. He decided that Merle had been right when he had told him that the group didn't give a shit about him, that he was just redneck trash to them. Daryl also had decided that, although Merle had been truthful about that, he had lied when he said that no one but him would ever care about Daryl. Merle'd been lying when he said that, because he didn't care about Daryl, either.


	5. Chapter 5

The news of Daryl's departure had spread quickly throughout the camp and by 10am everyone knew that Daryl was gone. Most of the group suspected that Shane had something to do with Daryl's sudden exodus, and some felt a silent satisfaction when noting the bruises and cuts on Shane's face and arms. At least Daryl had gotten his licks in before he left.

Shane had busied himself with splitting wood by the woodshed behind the farmhouse. It was something that needed to be done and he was strong and although still sore from the events of the previous night, he enjoyed taking his frustration and anger out on the chunks of wood. He also hoped that any of the group members who felt obligated to confront him about Daryl's decision to bolt would think twice about approaching him when they saw him with an ax in his hand. The aggressive and ferocious way he was making short work of the wood that needed splitting should give them pause as well.

The only one to approach him that morning had been Dale, but when Dale was about 20 feet from him, Shane had brought the ax down hard on a piece of wood, causing it to explode into two pieces which flew through the air for at least fifteen feet in separate directions. He looked up at Dale, his face twisted in an angry grimace.

Dale's eyes had gotten wide and apparently he decided what he needed to discuss with Shane wasn't that important after all and he'd turned on his heels and headed back in the direction from which he'd come.

* * *

Carol stood in the Greene's kitchen over the stove. She was sautéing wild mushrooms in a large cast iron pan. They sizzled in the butter and she stirred in some more oregano and garlic powder. Lunch today was to be venison steaks topped with sautéed wild mushrooms, fresh baked rolls and a green salad. A meal, Carol thought, that would rival one from the fanciest "all natural foods" restaurant.

* * *

T-Dog and Glenn were cooking the steaks on a huge homemade grill that had been made out of a 55 gallon steel oil drum that had been sawed in half right down the middle and fitted with cast iron legs and a long, rectangular metal grating. It reminded T-Dog of the grills that you would see at the chicken barbeques at fairs and Fourth of July celebrations. It was big enough so that enough meat for the whole camp could be cooked at once. T-Dog turned the steaks with the long two pronged barbeque fork.

When Daryl and Merle had joined the group and Daryl had brought in their first deer, some of the group members had expressed distaste for venison, saying it tasted too "gamey". Daryl had suggested marinating the cuts of steak in a mixture of red wine and olive oil before grilling it and T-Dog had tried it. The resulting meat was tender and had a fine flavor, not unlike prime rib.

T-Dog frowned as he continued to poke and prod at the meat sizzling on the grill. This would probably be one of their last meals where fresh meat was on the menu. He mentally scanned through the list of men in the group. Did any of them know how to hunt?

Daryl had taken Glenn out once to try to teach him some hunting skills, but Glenn had wanted to talk when he was supposed to be quiet. When he'd been "shushed" by Daryl enough times, he'd finally shut his mouth and then he'd stepped on and snapped every twig on the ground in the whole damned forest (according to Daryl, anyway). The exasperated hunter had returned with Glenn, pronouncing Glenn unteachable and vowing never to take him hunting with him again. T-Dog smiled at that memory.

T-Dog didn't think Rick or Shane knew much about hunting and tracking and he knew he didn't. He knew that Dale had hunted in his younger days, but Dale was older now. Was he in any shape or condition for the physical strength and endurance that hunting demanded? Did he possess any tracking skills? T-Dog didn't know, but he was positive that any skills Dale might have would be miniscule when compared to Daryl's.

T-Dog sighed. Without their hunter, the group was going to be depending a lot more on canned goods.

* * *

Carol stirred the mushrooms with a wooden spoon. They smelled delicious and she remembered the first time she had been introduced to them.

Daryl and Merle had been relatively new to the group, and despite their antisocial, coarse and at times, downright rude behavior, they had proven themselves to be invaluable when it came to helping to feed the group of survivors. Squirrel and opossum meat had sounded completely nauseating at first, but after a couple of weeks without fresh meat, and smelling the enticing aroma of cooking meat wafting over from the Dixon's camp, several of the group members had swallowed their pride and their misgivings and given the roasted rodents a try. They weren't bad. It wasn't like eating steak at the Ritz, but it was better than having canned beans Every. Single. Day.

Occasionally Daryl would bring in a deer. When he did, he did all of the work, gutting, skinning and butchering the meat, and then disposing of the waste.

On one of the occasions where deer was on the menu for dinner, Daryl had gone into the woods in the late afternoon. Early in the evening as the meat was cooking, Daryl had returned to the camp carrying a cloth bundle. He had gone into his tent and returned to the community fire with a large, cast iron frying pan. He'd sat down on a log near the fire, poured some olive oil into the pan from a can of it he'd brought from his tent and then and pulled out his hunting knife. He placed the pan on his lap and placed the bundle next to himself on the log and opened it. In the bundle, which Carol then noticed was made up of one of Daryl's clean shirts, was a pile of mushrooms. They had fat, round, snow white stems and golden tan little caps. Daryl proceeded to slice the mushrooms into small pieces with his hunting knife and drop them into the oiled pan.

A few members of the group were sitting on some of the other logs or in lawn chairs around the fire, patiently waiting for their dinner to finish cooking. Carol noticed that none of them looked directly at Daryl, but they would all sneak little peeks and glances at him to see what he was doing.

Daryl then removed what looked like garlic clove from the bundle and cut it into small pieces, dropping them into the pan with the mushrooms. Finally he pulled some tiny leaves out of the cloth and shredded them with his fingers into the pan.

He stood up, grabbing the pan by the handle and stepped in closer to the fire. He slid the pan onto some embers at the edge of where the fire cracked and popped as the venison cooked. Soon the aroma of garlic and mushrooms permeated the air along with the smell of cooking meat. Daryl would occasionally get up off the log and lean into the pan of mushrooms, stirring them around with the tip of his knife. After a few minutes, and just as the venison was deemed to be thoroughly cooked, he grabbed the shirt he'd s used to carry the mushrooms and used it as a potholder to pull the frying pan off the coals of the fire. He placed the pan with the mushrooms on the card table that the platter of steaks would be placed on and walked away toward his tent. Daryl generally waited until everyone else was done eating before he would enter the camp and prepare a plate for himself.

There were concerned whispers and speculation regarding the pan of mushrooms. "What if they're poisonous?" "Maybe he's trying to kill us all." "Does he think we're stupid?"

It was the most unlikely person that was the most appreciative of the mushrooms. Ed had been sitting in a lawn chair in front of his tent, smoking and feeling sorry for himself for having ever joined up with this group of idiots when he caught the aroma of sautéed mushrooms. Sautéed mushrooms with garlic and oregano. Ed was suddenly overcome with memories of his Cajun grandmother and how she would tell him when the summer days got hot and humid that 'ze mushes iz out'. A couple of days later she would invite him with his parents and siblings to dinner. There, on the table among the other Cajun dishes would be a heaping bowl of mushrooms, fried in butter and seasoned with garlic, oregano, basil and rosemary. They were delicious.

He had tried to get Carol to re-create the same dish, but it never came out right. Store bought mushrooms were bland and tasteless and he had no idea what kind of wild mushrooms his Memere had used.

Ed decided that he'd trudge on down to the community fire and bless the others with his presence. He nodded to Carol when he arrived at the fire and she rushed over to him and offered to get him a plate of food. He brushed her off of him and said he'd get his own but she should get him something to drink.

She rushed off to do so.

Ed got in line and when he got to the stack of steaks, he moved a couple of them aside so he could stab the biggest one with his fork and drag it onto his plate. Then his eyes fell onto the pan of mushrooms. It looked like no one had taken any, and Ed started piling them up on his plate. Dale was behind him in line and when he saw Ed helping himself to the mushrooms he pointed to them and said, "You're going to eat those?"

Ed looked at Dale like he'd grown a second head. "Isn't that why they're here? To be eaten?"

"Well, yes," Dale said, "but Daryl found them and…"

He was interrupted by a nearby voice that boomed from the direction of the Dixon campsite. "My baby brother cooked up some mushrooms? Where they at? They'd damned well better be some left."

As Merle strode towards the table of food, Dale grabbed a steak, threw it on his plate and departed quickly. Merle approached the table and stood next to Ed in front of the mushrooms and smiled. "Well, ain't that a site. I ain't had these in a long time." Merle grabbed a plate and threw two steaks on it and then shoved a spoon into the mushrooms and started piling them onto the venison steak on his plate.

Ed scowled as Merle continued to spoon mushrooms onto his plate. Angrily he realized that Merle was going to take the rest of them. Ed cleared his throat and said, "Hey, Bubba! Don't you think you should leave some of those for everyone else?"

Merle gave Ed a sour look and Ed thought Merle looked like he'd just smelled the world's nastiest fart. "Was my baby brother brought these in, I'll have as many as I want, "he scowled.

Then as Ed watched, Merle took a couple of spoons full of the mushrooms from off his plate and put them back in the frying pan. Merle strode off with the plate of food and headed back towards the Dixon's tents.

Ed grabbed the frying pan and tipped it up, dumping the rest of the mushrooms onto his own plate. He put the empty pan back on the table and grabbed the glass of lemonade from Carol as she held it out to him. "We're eating at our tent" he told her and herded his wife and daughter towards their tent.

The mushrooms were wonderful and Ed was comfortably full when Daryl approached him an hour later. Ed was surprised to see the hunter coming toward his tent and a bit nervous as well. What the hell did he want? Daryl stopped in front of where Ed sat in his lawn chair.

The sun had set and the pink and purple sky in the west was slowly fading to a medium sapphire blue to match the rest of the sky. The stars had started to appear in the sky and a gentle cooling breeze had begun to blow.

The hunter looked at Ed, and then sat down on the ground in front of him. "I heard you liked the mushrooms," Daryl said to Ed.

"They were alright, so what?" Said Ed defensively.

"I like 'em, too." Daryl said, "an' it seems like you an' Merle are the only other ones around who 'preciate 'em."

Ed didn't know what the hell this guy wanted and it was irritating him. "So what the hell is your point?" Ed asked testily.

"My point," Daryl said calmly, fighting his urge to jump up and pop Ed one in his stupid, fat mouth, "is that gatherin' mushrooms an' that sort a shit is women's work an' I don't have time for it. I'm gonna be givin' Glenn a lesson tomorrow 'bout 'em. Where to find 'em, which ones are good an' which ones 'll kill you. How to fix 'em. I jes' figured that since you like 'em, you might wanna have Carol an' Sophia come along. That way they 'd know how to find 'em and whatever they might find 'd belong to you. "

Ed pondered this. He and the hunter agreed that hunting was for the men and gathering was something that women should do. He had smirked when the hunter said he was going to be teaching the chink about the mushrooms. He guessed the effeminate chink was pretty close to being a woman.

"Sure, "said Ed. "as long as they ain't' going to be alone with you."

Daryl shot Ed a look before he could stop himself, but immediately drummed up a fake smile for the fat bastard.

Daryl had taken Glenn, Carol and Sophia into the woods the next day and taught them all he knew about finding and harvesting the 'Boletus edulis' mushroom. He was kind and patient with them and seemed genuinely pleased when all three of them were able to put their new skills to use and presented him with several of the tasty fungi.

* * *

Carol smiled thinking back on this. She remembered the evening Daryl had cooked up that first batch of mushrooms. She remembered. Ed had sent her back to the main campsite to get him more lemonade. As she had approached the cooler, she saw Daryl, coming down the hill from the Dixon campsite for dinner. She watched as he grabbed a plate and put the one last small piece of venison steak left on it. Then she saw the disappointment in his face as he stared at the empty frying pan where the mushrooms had been. From up at their campsite, Carol heard Ed emit a long and loud satisfied belch.

* * *

Andrea was furious with Shane. She wanted to talk to him, to ask him what the hell had happened between him and Daryl and why had Daryl left?

She sat on the flat rock Daryl had set his clean clothes on the previous day on the pea stone beach by the creek. It was peaceful here. The gurgle of the creek and the sounds of the crickets chirping were calming. Where the hell had Daryl gone?

She knew she and Daryl weren't close, but lately she had started toying with the idea that she might like that to change. He had forgiven her for almost killing him and she had discovered, from the few times that she had been alone with him, that he was intelligent and funny and he constantly surprised her.

When she had first met him, she had immediately written him off as being an ignorant, racist, inbred hillbilly. The first indication that she might be wrong was when she was walking through the woods with him the first night Sophia had been missing and when she had expressed doubts about finding the girl. He had answered, "These ain't the mountains of Tibet, its Georgia." She had been impressed. She was quite sure that most hillbillies had no knowledge of Tibet. Gradually she had realized that he was a lot smarter than she thought. Hell, he was a lot smarter than any of them thought. One day she had been struck by the thought that perhaps Daryl wanted them all to think he wasn't as smart as he really was. She smiled. Clever bastard.

She picked up a couple of small stones and threw them into the water where they landed with a "plink". She sighed. She had decided last night that today would be the day that she would go up to his campsite and talk to him. Now she wished she'd done it last night.

She smiled remembering what had happened yesterday.

Andrea had been following the creek that ran through Hershel's property down towards the river, scouting out some good places to fish. As she approached the river, she could see up ahead where the steep bank had leveled out and the creek had formed a deep and wide pool. She thought she caught site of movement across the creek from where she stood and she ducked down and lay flat on her belly in the grass, peeking up over the top of the bank. Was it a walker? She squinted her eyes and then saw Daryl, carrying a stack of clean clothes and walking towards the pool.

Oh, this she had to see. She watched as Daryl arranged his clean clothes on a flat rock and then began to remove his dirty clothes. She had to bite her hand to keep from laughing when he took off his boot and made a face while he fanned his hand in front of his nose. She bit it harder as he hopped around on one foot trying to shake his boxers off his other ankle and then she blushed as she caught herself staring at another part of his body that flopped around as he hopped. She considered leaving, after all, he would die of embarrassment if he knew she could see him in this state of undress. No, this was too good to miss. She was staying right where she was.

She watched with great interest and amusement as he washed his hair and his body, and was confused when he suddenly started to swim toward the mouth of the river, until he swam back tightly gripping a small white bar of soap.

As he walked out of the water, she could see the scars that covered his back and she felt a pang of sympathy for him. She suddenly had the urge to burst from her hiding place, swim across the creek and give him a great big hug. She wondered about the tattoos on his back, the two winged beings. Were they angels? Demons? An angel and a demon? What was the story behind them? She knew the tattoo under his right arm was a demon. That one was easy to see when he walked around in sleeveless shirts, exposing those wonderful arms of his to all the women in camp.

He had turned around and faced the creek and shook like a dog. She watched him squeezing the water out of his hair and noted how long it was. She would make a point to ask him if he'd like her to cut his hair.

She studied his face, what she could see of it from twenty feet away. He was handsome, she'd decided a while ago, beneath his usual coating of dirt and grime. His eyes were a brilliant blue, the color of a cloudless summer sky, and he had long, blond eyelashes. His eyebrows were well shaped, arched and incredibly expressive. He could raise them curiously or knit them together with a scowl and get his point across without saying a word. He let the eyebrows do the talking. She giggled into her hand at that thought. He had high, angular cheekbones, well-shaped lips and absolutely perfect, straight white teeth. She found herself wishing that he would smile more.

She watched him as he stood there in all his naked glory and she blushed again. She had never noticed what a nice body he had. Sure, she had noticed those big strong arms of his; all of the women in the camp had, but my God, look at those shoulders! He had broad, strong shoulders and a strong, well-muscled chest,, even if it did show too many ribs lately. It was a shame that it was marred by so many jagged, ugly scars. He had just the right amount of hair on his chest. Not so little that he looked like a he hadn't hit puberty, and not so much that he looked like a gorilla. His stomach was flat and the muscles well defined. His hips were narrow and he had long strong legs and while he was no porn star, he had nothing to be ashamed of. He suddenly turned and bent over his pile of clean clothing. Andrea thought she would faint. OMG he had the nicest ass! She suddenly had the desire to give it a good pinch or slap. She blushed again, what was she thinking?!

She had watched him dress himself and then rinse out his socks. She crinkled her nose a bit as he scrubbed them. Could she really actually _r_ them from where she watched, some twenty feet away? She watched as he gathered up his dirty clothes and his boots and headed towards his tent barefooted. When he was out of sight, she sat up and smiled. Well, she thought, that was nice, should I applaud?

She decided then and there that tomorrow she would visit Daryl and she would _not_ let him run her off. They were going to talk and she was going to let him know that she thought that he was a pretty cool guy and that she wanted to get to know him better.

She no longer had that option, thanks to Shane. What the hell had he said to Daryl? She had wanted to ask him, but the way Shane had been savagely smashing and splitting wood, she had decided it would be best to leave him alone for now.

Andrea wished she had been more aggressive and had refused to leave when she had tried to visit Daryl the week before at his campsite and he had totally blown her off and told her to leave him the fuck alone.

Rick had indicated that they would all be discussing the Daryl situation over lunch. She hoped that Rick would understand how important Daryl was to the group and send some of them out after him. She'd volunteer to go if he did. They all needed him. Why couldn't Daryl see that?


	6. Chapter 6

Daryl was getting used to the Harley and once he had adjusted to the differences between the Fat Boy and the Bonneville, he found that he really liked it. Unlike the Bonneville, it had forward controls so he didn't have to bend his knees so much and instead of foot pegs to rest his feet on, the Harley had footboards. The handlebars were ape hangers, like the Bonneville's, but they had been pulled back a bit more. Overall the riding position was extremely comfortable. It wasn't a chopper, like the Bonneville, so the gas tank was bigger and it handled better. The bike was well balanced and the ride was extremely smooth. It was black with red tribal pin striping and the blacked out engine and exhaust components made it look totally badass.

He had put the gas he had drained from Merle's Bonneville into the Harley, and found that the tank was already more than half full, so he wasn't able to use all of it. He had checked the tires and the suspension on the bike, the headlight and the directionals (although afterward he wondered why the hell he had bothered to do that, habit, he guessed) and then started it up. The engine roared to life and he was off.

The blacked out pipes on the Harley were baffled, so the Harley was nowhere near as loud as the Triumph had been. Daryl smirked at this discovery. He found it amusing that his loud and obnoxious older brother's bike was also loud and obnoxious. And offensive, don't forget offensive. The Nazi SS insignia on the gas tank of the Bonneville had certainly been offensive, just like the Bonneville's owner. Daryl's bike, because that's what the Harley was now, was quieter, newer, and nowhere near as "in your face" as the Bonneville, sort of like Daryl when comparing him to Merle.

It was a little after 1pm and Daryl approached the turn off that would take him towards the lakes as the group of people he had left behind early that morning sat down to eat and to discuss him.

* * *

Shane wiped the sweat from his brow with a hand towel as he approached the others seated around the front of the RV. He did not want to sit and eat with the others or be a part of this ridiculous meeting that Rick had called. If he didn't show up, though, the others would judge him guilty of forcing Daryl to leave and he sure as hell didn't need that. As he got closer, he saw Rick sitting with Lori and Carl in a semicircle. They were sitting in lawn chairs holding plates of food in their laps and talking to each other between bites.

Rick was speaking to Lori when he saw her gaze shift from his face to somewhere behind him and he turned around and saw Shane approaching. He smiled at his friend and motioned to an empty chair next to him. Shane lowered himself into it gratefully and Rick reached over and clasped his shoulder. "Hey, Bro, glad you could make it." he said warmly.

"Wouldn't look too good if I didn't." Shane replied quietly.

Lori smiled at Shane, "I'll grab you a plate," she said as she got up from her chair.

Shane nodded, "Thanks." He noticed the others in the group sneaking peeks at him while they ate and conversed with each other and knew he was the topic of conversation among many of them.

Lori returned with a plate loaded with venison and mushrooms, two rolls and butter. She hadn't bothered to put any salad on Shane's plate. She knew he wasn't a salad guy and wouldn't have eaten it.

Shane was touched that she remembered this about him and he thanked her as she passed the plate to him. His fingers brushed hers as he took it from her and for a second their eyes met, then Lori's cheeks flushed and she looked away.

Rick didn't catch any of their interaction as he was busy scarfing down his lunch. It was delicious and he hoped the others were enjoying their meal as well, as he was going to be using it as an illustration of Daryl's value to the group. He hoped it would help him when he made his case for going after Daryl.

Rick waited until it appeared everyone was done eating and had started engaging in their own small group conversations when he cleared his throat and stood up. "Well," he said, "That was one delicious meal. Thank you to all who had a hand in preparing it. Your skills are very much appreciated." He wiped his hand across his brow where sweat had started to collect and continued, "You all know by now that Daryl has chosen to part company with us. Before I go any further on this subject I want to make it clear to you that Daryl's decision to leave and his actually acting on his decision had nothing to do with Shane. "

The group murmured among themselves at this announcement and Rick was sure that he heard Andrea's voice mutter, "Bullshit!"

"How can you be so sure?" Dale asked, throwing a fearful glance in Shane's direction, "Everyone heard them fighting last night."

Rick turned to where Shane sat staring at his feet with his arms folded in front of him. "Shane?" Rick asked, "Why don't you tell everyone what happened. It will help to clear things up. I know it did for me."

Shane looked up at Rick and Rick could read his eyes, "Do you think this is really a good idea?" they said.

Rick gave Shane a slight nod.

Shane stood up and looked at Rick once more and then addressed the group. "I went up to see Daryl last night because I wanted to talk to him about coming back down here and being part of the group again. I thought he was being childish and selfish, goin' off by himself like that. We have a lot to do before winter and I went to tell him to pull his head out of his ass and start helping us. I went to tell him we all needed him. "

He had everyone's attention and so far no one had interrupted him.

"When I got up there, Daryl was drinking and he was pretty much drunk. I said my piece about wanting him to move back down with us and told him we needed his help. He laughed at me and yes, that made me mad. We started trading insults. I'll admit, I should have left then, but he just wouldn't stop and when I said I'd had enough of his mouth and turned to leave, he attacked me. "

Shane looked around at the group to try to gauge their reactions to what he was telling them. The only doubtful looks he could see belonged to Dale and Andrea.

"We traded punches, but it wasn't any worse than a bar brawl. In the end we called a truce, no one was going to win that one and when I asked him again about rejoining the group down here, Daryl's exact words were, 'maybe I'll think about it and maybe I won't.' He never said a thing to me about leaving or that he was even thinking of leaving. " Of course, Shane wasn't going to mention the discussion with Daryl about Otis or that he had blamed Daryl for Carol's misery. He also wasn't going to broadcast that he had put Daryl into a choke hold and choked him to the point of unconsciousness. "He was fine when I left him, "Shane said to the group. "A few cuts, a few bruises, no worse and no different than what he gave me. He was just fine." Shane sat down.

"Just how drunk was he?" asked Dale. "Because if Daryl was inebriated, I would hardly call that a fair fight and it would only make sense that he came out of it much worse than you did."

"It sure as hell was a fair fight. It wasn't like he was falling down drunk," Shane replied, "he wasn't slurring, he was just…belligerent and mouthy and looking for a fight."

Rick scanned the faces in the group and cleared his throat. "Now we all know that Daryl can be…." he paused, looking for the right words.

"A jerk?" Glenn volunteered helpfully.

Rick stretched his right arm out and pointed towards Glenn, "not quite the word I was looking for, but yes, a jerk would be a correct assessment. Thank you Glenn." He continued. "I am pretty sure that I speak for all of us when I say that we figured that Daryl was just a younger version of Merle. I know I did. I also know that I was wrong. Very wrong. Daryl may not have the best people skills, and he may be rough around the edges, but the fact is we probably wouldn't all be here right now if it wasn't for Daryl. He's taken down more walkers with that crossbow than I can count, he's brought fresh food in for us and he's always had our backs. When we went back to get Merle and Merle was gone, Daryl could have left right then and there, but he stayed and went after Glenn with me and T-Dog. I don't know about you, but if someone had cuffed one of my family members to a roof and left them there, I don't think I'd be sticking around to help them out anytime soon. "

He paused and scanned the faces watching him. "Daryl's leaving is not Shane's fault." He said. "It's my fault. It's my fault for never telling Daryl that I appreciated him, that he was an extremely important part of this group and that we all depended on him. It's my fault for never thanking him for all he did, or even acknowledging his contributions to our safety and well-being. I never made an effort to get to know him and I barely acknowledged his existence. Now I have a question for all of you. Have any of you done any different? I know I had started to change my perception of him when he was injured while looking for Sophia, but I still never made the effort to seek him out and thank him." Rick looked out towards the tree line by the pasture. So many times he had looked in that direction and seen Daryl emerging from the forest, string of squirrels over his shoulder or bending under the weight of a deer on his back.

"The meat in today's lunch was brought to you courtesy of Daryl Dixon." Rick said. "and the mushrooms were only part of the meal because he found it right to share his knowledge of them with others. I want you all to think about these things, because I don't think we can afford to lose Daryl. He brings more to this group than I do, that is for sure. I want to go after him. I want to find him and convince him to come back. Does anyone have a problem with that?"

Shane had a problem with that, but he didn't dare bring it up in front of everyone. He was hoping that someone else would object to wasting time and manpower going after the troublemaking redneck but no one else seemed to think it was a bad idea.

Rick proposed to take Glenn with him and Andrea insisted on going as well. Rick wanted to leave within the hour as he didn't want Daryl to have too much of a head start on them.

"How do you know which way he headed?" Shane asked as they prepared to depart.

"Daryl always said he thought we should head a bit west, into the mountains. " Rick explained. "He figured there'd be less walkers and more game for hunting there. Less chances of running into other people. I'm betting he headed west. "

Shane looked at Rick and then over towards the farmhouse. "And if you don't find him? Just how long are you planning on looking for him?"

"If we can't catch up with him either today or tomorrow, I'd have to figure he was long gone," was Rick's reply.

" I could come, too, and help." Shane offered.

"I need you here." Rick told his friend. "If we end up having to go out again tomorrow, you can come and help then. "

* * *

Rick, Glenn and Andrea left in Shane's Hyundai promising to be back by nightfall. The turned onto the dirt road at the end of Greene's driveway and headed towards the highway. They headed west on the highway when they reached it a few moments later. They hadn't been this way before and had no idea what to expect as far as road blockages up ahead.

When they reached the first tangle of cars across the roadway, they knew they were on the right track. It appeared that some vehicles had been moved and a path wide enough for a motorcycle wound through the vehicles. A broken bolt by a walker with a hole in its forehead near the wheel of a tractor trailer was all the confirmation they needed . Daryl had been this way. They spent the next hour putting vehicles in neutral, pushing and moving them out of the way to create a passageway wide enough for the Hyundai. A couple of miles up the highway they ran into another pile up of vehicles blocking the roadway and more evidence that Daryl had been there. There were more twice-dead walkers and a path wide enough for a motorcycle to get through.

As they moved vehicles out of the way so they could get through, Rick encouraged Andrea and Glenn. "He had to move vehicles by himself so I'm sure it took him quite a bit longer than it is taking us. Hopefully we can catch up with him. "

The third mess of abandoned cars on the highway was the biggest one they'd encountered so far. They had moved two vehicles when Glenn spotted a black Cadillac Escalade. "_Wow_," he said, "look at that, and it looks like it won't be much trouble to move it!" He sprinted toward the vehicle, dodging other cars and then skidded to a stop. "_Ewwwwwwww_, what is _that?!_"

Andrea jogged up to where he stood and looked down to see what had Glenn's attention. "Oh, gross," she said as she turned up her nose and backed up a couple of feet. "it looks like someone barfed."

Glenn opened the door of the Escalade and peeked inside, then pulled back and quickly slammed it shut. He gagged and bent over and deposited his own contribution to the chunky puddle on the ground.

"Oh, God, Glenn, that's disgusting." Andrea frowned.

Glenn coughed and hacked and wiped his mouth. "If you haven't smelled the inside of this Escalade, then you don't know what disgusting is." He replied. He looked like he was deep in thought for a minute and then he laughed. "I'll bet Daryl did the same thing!" he exclaimed. "He would have thought this was a pretty cool ride. I'll bet he opened the door to check it out and then got sick when he was hit by the stench. "

"Again, Glenn," Andrea made a face,"that's disgusting."

They found the two walkers Daryl had taken out and one of the red rags that he usually had hanging out of his back pocket.

Rick was feeling hopeful that they would catch up with him soon.

As they approached the fourth and the final road blockage that Daryl had encountered, Rick felt a knot appear in his stomach when he saw what looked like a motorcycle lying on the ground up ahead. As he drove closer he confirmed that is was a motorcycle. Not only was it a motorcycle, it was Merle's.

Andrea and Glenn saw it, too and when Rick brought the car to a halt and threw it into park, they all exited the vehicle at once and jogged over to the overturned motorcycle.

"What does this mean?" Glenn griped . "Where is Daryl? He wouldn't just leave Merle's bike here like this!"

Rick bent down and grabbed the handlebars of the Bonneville and with a grunt, hauled it upright. He pushed it forward a bit and leaned it on it's kickstand. "look at that, " he said, pointing to a divet in the blacktop. "the heat softened the pavement and the kickstand sunk into it, tipping the bike over." He was strangely relieved by this revelation. It meant Daryl hadn't just left the bike overturned like they'd found it.

"His bedroll and his tent are still here." Andrea commented as she motioned to them. "and all this stuff scattered here on the ground, these clothes and tools and things. These are Daryl's. "

"This isn't like him," said Glenn with concern in his voice. "he wouldn't just leave all this stuff and take off."

"Maybe he went into the woods to find a place to make camp for the night." Suggested Rick "and figured on coming back after it once he found a good spot. "

"He would have taken his tent, then, wouldn't he?" questioned Andrea.

Glenn noticed something on the ground near the front of the Bonneville and reached down to scoop it up. He held up the key to the motorcycle for Andrea and Rick to see. "No way would he just leave this lying around on the ground. Something is wrong here." he said.

Their eyes all scanned the ground, and the surrounding vehicles. Rick felt his chest tighten. Had a walker gotten Daryl? Was he ambushed by other survivors? Had he just decided to walk when he couldn't find a way through the blocked roadway? The keys. Daryl would never leave the keys to the Triumph behind and he certainly never would have left them on the ground. If anything, they should have been in the ignition, ready in case Daryl had to make a fast getaway.

"DARYL!", Andrea called. "DAAAAAAAAARYL!"

Glenn joined in shouting toward the woods for Daryl and Rick found himself doing the same. After five or so minutes of shouting and calling for Daryl, they realized that either he didn't hear them or if he did, he didn't want to be found. They realized that they were also ringing the dinner bell for any walkers in the vicinity and if Daryl was nearby, that wouldn't help him in any way.

"His crossbow isn't here, that's a good sign," Rick said as he rubbed his chin like he was deep in thought. He knew they weren't going to be finding Daryl that day.

The sun was starting to set and Rick knew that they had to be getting back to the Greene's farm before the rest of the group started to worry about them. "We'll work on a strategy tonight," he said, "and come back early tomorrow morning. We can't go into the woods now, it will be dark soon."

Glenn and Andrea reluctantly agreed and they all got into the Hyundai to head back. They drove in silence all the way back to the Greene's farm.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7. Let me know what you think, even if you think this story totally stinks and that I couldn't write my way out of a paper bag. I love reviews! Good, bad, ugly, bring 'em on!**

Daryl had ridden a little over ten miles on the dusty dirt road when he saw the sign for Forest Lake State Park up ahead. He slowed and pulled the bike over and came to a stop right before the sign. He went to pull his red rag out of his back pocket to wipe the sweat and road dust from his face and he cursed when he found it was missing. He untied his plaid red and tan shirt from around his waist and used that to wipe the sweat from his face and neck. The then wiped the back of his neck as well. He removed his crossbow strap from around his back and shoulder and set the crossbow next to him, leaning it against the motorcycle. Damn, but it was hot. Pulling his tank undershirt off over his head, he took a deep breath and reached for his canteen. It was about half full and he took a long drink from it and then poured some water over his face and then onto his neck and chest. It was lukewarm, but it felt good.

The sign in front of him told him he had another ½ a mile to go before he reached the first lake and he was glad of it. He was exhausted and was hoping he'd find a safe place where he could hunker down and get a little bit of sleep. He took one more swallow of water and pulled his undershirt back on over his head and tied his shirt around his waist. He slung the crossbow over his shoulder, adjusted the strap and started the Harley.

He shut the bike off at the top of the Forest Lake State Park road and put it into neutral. The road sloped gently downward and he figured that if he could coast down the hill without the engine running, it would be less of a walker attractant and he'd be able to hear if anything was coming towards him through the woods. At the bottom of the hill, the road turned into a parking lot. There were two RVs and four cars parked in the lot, and he could see the lake and the campsites further in. He counted five RVs set up in campsites and looked about warily for walkers.

A gurgling moan behind him caught his attention quickly and he swung his crossbow up and twisted around on the motorcycle seat to see what was coming.

There were three walkers approaching and it looked like they had been a family at one time. There was a man in swimming trunks and a Hawaiian shirt. Half his face had been peeled away from his skull and he was missing part of his right arm. It ended at this elbow. A chunk of flesh on the "Walker Dad's" left thigh had been ripped away, exposing the femur. Walker Dad moaned as it caught sight of Daryl, or his smell and shambled toward him.

"Momma Walker" followed right behind him. She was missing both of her eyes, her nose and her half of her right hand was missing. Her ribs were exposed where a large chunk of flesh had been torn away from her chest and her lips had rotted away from yellowed teeth. She gnashed them as she advanced.

"Walker Kid" appeared to have been a teenaged girl at one time. The first thing that Daryl noticed about her was that she had multiple piercings in her ears. A gauge at the bottom and then little hoops and studs ran up the sides of both of them. Wouldn't those look cool on his shoestring necklace of zombie ears, he thought. Walker Kid was dressed in low cut jeans and a halter top. Her navel was pierced, too, but the flesh had been ripped open on her stomach and the chunk with the navel ring hung like slab of meat from a narrow strip of flesh. It swung back and forth as she shambled in his direction. Other than that, she was pretty much intact, and Daryl wondered if Walker Dad and Momma Walker had preceded her in their transformation into the undead realm of walkers.

Daryl readied his crossbow and took down Walker Dad first. His shot went right into Dad's mouth and the bolt almost completely exited the back of its head. Dad went over backward with a final guttural growl.

Walker Kid had caught up with and shuffled past Momma Walker, and she was Daryl's next target. He hit the trigger and let the bolt fly and suddenly Walker Kid had an arrow spouting from her forehead. She went over backward without a sound.

Momma Walker was still advancing, gurgling and moaning and reaching toward him. "Aw honey," Daryl smiled. "I missed you, too. " Momma growled and moaned louder, "What's that? You wanna give me a big ol' hug an' suck my face? Well c'mon ova here sugar. Daryl's got somethin' special for ya."

Momma Walker continued to advance and Daryl contemplated using his knife instead of the crossbow. In the end, he let a bolt fly and it caught Momma in her empty left eye socket. She gibbered and moaned and clawed at the sky for a moment after she'd fallen and after she grew still, Daryl put his booted foot on her forehead cautiously before yanking the bolt from her eye.

He saw movement by the beach area from the corner of his eye and glanced in that direction. A couple of walkers were coming around the corner of what appeared to be the concession stand. They moaned and growled and started shambling and dragging themselves in his direction. More came around the corner of the stand, and then even more. He counted fourteen of them in all.

What to do, what to do. He didn't have enough bolts on him to take them all out with his crossbow, but he had enough to take most of them down. He could probably dispatch the others with his Bowie knife, but if he ended up getting mobbed that might not be such a good idea.

He pulled back the bowstring, aimed and let the first bolt fly. It hit its mark and the walker dropped. He yanked the bolt out of Walker Dad, set it up and let it fly. Another one down. The next bolt he pulled from his quiver and walker three bit the dust.

He tried to pull the bolt from Walker Kid but it was stuck. He shouldered the crossbow and pulled on the arrow with both hands, leaning back as he held Walker Kid's head down with his right foot. The arrow came out with a satisfying '_pop_' and Daryl almost fell on his ass. He laughed to himself. Wouldn't it have been something to be swarmed immediately after falling on his butt? He shook his head, why the hell did he think something like that was funny? The fourth walker fell as he fired another bolt.

They were about thirty feet from him now and he backed up, retreating towards his bike. He let another bolt fly and then another. Two more bolts flew and met their mark. He had two bolts left. The six walkers left continued to advance, shambling and groaning and reaching for him.

"I look an' smell goooooooooooood to you bastards, don't I?" He called to them and he did a little half turn and wiggled his ass at them. They all moaned in unison as if answering him and he smirked and taunted them. "C'mon an' get it, then, ya undead fuckers!"

He used the last two bolts to take out the walkers in the middle of the approaching group and then drew the Bowie knife from its sheath and advanced towards the remaining four flesh eaters.

Sweat ran down his forehead and he wiped it out of his eyes. His heart was pounding in his chest and he was wired with adrenaline. He never felt so alive than when his life was potentially on the line – and how stupid was that?

He started running toward them and when he was almost upon them he cut to the right and sprinted past the walker furthest to the right. He jumped behind it before it had a chance to turn around and drove the knife through the back of its skull. The knife was sharp and he was easily able to extract it and he jumped back, wiping it on his pants as he jogged backward toward one of the walkers he had taken out earlier with his crossbow. He yanked the bolt from the walker and pulled the bowstring back and set the bolt.

The three remaining walkers had now stopped and then reversed direction and were now shambling towards him. He did a quick 360 degree scan of the area around him. He didn't want any surprises and then he turned his attention back to the advancing walkers and took aim at the one in the middle. He let the bolt fly and the walker went down, a bolt protruding from where its nose had been a second before.

He backed up a bit more and pulled another bolt from a walker he'd taken down. He scrambled backward and his left foot stepped in something slippery and he went down flat on his back, losing his grip on his crossbow.

He scrambled to the side and reached for the crossbow, bringing it up as the first walker appeared above him. He fired and his bolt caught it in the right cheek. It fell down on top of him and he cried out in disgust as the putrid liquid oozing from where the bolt was imbedded dripped onto his face and down his neck. The last walker fell on top of Disgusting Oozing Face Walker still on top of Daryl and clawed and snapped at him. It buried it's broken off yellow teeth into the back of the neck of Disgusting Oozing Face Walker.

Daryl reached for his knife and the walker on the top of the pig pile grabbed for his arm and rolled off Disgusting Oozing Face Walker's left side. Daryl pulled himself out from under the right side of Disgusting Oozing Face Walker and rolled away from it. He leaped to his feet, his heart pounded in his chest and zombie goo running down his face and neck. Fuck, that was close. The smell of the gunk stuck to his face and dripping down his neck was awful and he bit his tongue hard to keep himself from vomiting. He needed to take care of this walker first, he could puke later.

He wiped his face with his arm and grabbed his Bowie knife from off the ground and sheathed it. He pulled his smaller hunting knife from its sheath on his belt and stepped back. The last walker had gotten to its feet and was headed in his direction. It had been a woman when it was alive and it was wearing a one piece bathing suit. The bathing suit was bright florescent pink with lime green flowers on it and Daryl was struck by the contrast of the bright, lively colors and the gray, dead thing sporting them. He lined himself up with the approaching ex-beachgoer and threw the knife. It hit bathing suit walker right between the eyes and she went down.

Daryl looked around to see if there were any other walkers nearby that he needed to worry about. He couldn't see any and he listened as well as he could over the pounding of his heart in his ears. He couldn't hear anything but the pines whispering as a breeze blew through them and the occasional bird calling. He removed his knife from Bathing Suit Walker and collected his bolts, pulling them from the walkers he'd slain and wiping them off on his pant legs.

He caught his breath as he walked back towards his motorcycle, stopping every so often to look around and listen. There were no signs of other walkers, and he wondered if there were any lurking in any of the RV's scattered around the camping area. He decided against checking them to see.

He mounted his bike and wiped the sweat off his brow. He adjusted his crossbow and the knife sheaths on his belt, started up the motorcycle and turned out of the parking area onto the narrow road and headed toward Mirror Lake.

Mirror Lake was about a mile from Forest Lake and the narrow dirt road became even narrower as he got closer to his destination. He didn't see any walkers as he slowly rode along and he would take a second here and there to scan the forest on both sides of him. The road was shaded by tall pine trees and the air smelled of pine and rainwater. It was like perfume to Daryl. He had gone a bit more than a mile when he stopped at the top of a private drive that entered the lake road from the left. There was a gate at the top of the driveway where it met the lake road and a large black and orange sign: PRIVATE PROPERTY – NO HUNTING, SHOOTING OR TRESPASSING.

A small smile played about his lips. "Now that sounds like an invitation," he mumbled to himself.

He pulled the motorcycle in front of the gate and parked it, opened a saddlebag and pulled out his little Beretta Brevettata revolver. He checked the clip and chambered a bullet. He made sure the safety was on before sliding it into the waist of his pants near his belt buckle. Merle had called him a pussy once because he always carried with the safety on. He told Merle to go to hell; the last thing he needed was for the gun to accidentally discharge and blow his junk off.

He readied a bolt in his crossbow and walked cautiously around the gate at the top of the private drive. He could see the lake to his left through the trees and he could smell it, it smelled clean and fresh like the air after a cleansing rain. The smell of the lake blended with the smell of the pines and he inhaled deeply. He didn't smell anything that remotely resembled the smell of death and walkers.

He slowly and stealthily made his way down the pine needle covered drive. The little shaded road continued to descend and he had walked about 200 feet and he realized the road ran along the side of the lake and got progressively closer to the lake as it descended. After advancing another 100 feet he caught his first glimpse of the house. It was surrounded by a chain link fence and it sat on the edge of the lake. It was made of logs and was three stories high. There were several large windows in it and it gave the house the illusion of being made mostly of glass. The roof appeared to have glass panels on it as well and he thought that those were the biggest damned skylights he had ever seen. The yard had been tastefully landscaped with shrubs and fruit trees and he was sure it must have looked really nice before the apocalypse came along and people stopped mowing their lawns and trimming their trees and shrubs.

Daryl slid into the woods and approached from the cover of the trees. It was quiet, except for the call of birds and the occasional squirrel that stopped in the trees above him to chatter at and scold him. He stopped and stood still, listening and watching. There was a faint hum coming from the house.

As he got closer, he could see that the land had been cleared behind the house and the tree line was about 200 feet from what looked like it could be a back porch. The chain link fence ran along the tree line. He doubled back into the woods and made his approach from directly behind the house. There was no sign of anyone around and he couldn't see any cars parked anywhere near the house. There was a garage behind the house, but the doors were closed and he couldn't tell if anything was inside it or not.

As he closed in on the fence behind the house, his olfactory sense was suddenly assaulted by the stench of decaying flesh. He stopped and bit his lower lip, trying to push down the urge to vomit. His eyes scanned the woods around him and the house and the overgrown lawn up ahead of him for walkers. He listened carefully for any sounds that would indicate that walkers were near.

He listened for the squirrels. Squirrels would scold anything that walked beneath a tree they occupied, be it a human, a deer or a walker. Daryl had learned as a child learning to hunt to use the squirrels in the woods as indicators that something was approaching. A squirrel far off would chatter and scold, and then, as whatever was walking through the woods approached, a squirrel in a tree closer would do the same. He was able to surprise many a deer this way as the squirrels were more than happy to give away its position as it walked quietly through the woods. It worked both ways, though, as the little stinkers were more than happy to alert all the woodland creatures to Daryl's presence as he walked through the woods.

Daryl could not see or hear any walkers. The smell got worse as he approached the fence. He approached cautiously, waiting for a window in the house to suddenly fly open and an unknown occupant to cut him down in a hail of bullets. He was about three steps from the fence and he was still whole and alive and the house was still and quiet.

He glanced through the fence at the back lawn and pinpointed the source of the stink of death. About fifty feet from him, behind the fence and to his left, there was a row of four mounds of earth. They were placed against the chain-link fence where it ran down by the side of the house. Next to one of the mounds was a pile of old bloody rags.

Daryl touched the fence, half expecting it to be electrified and to fry his ass to a crisp where he stood. Ah, his first brain fart of the day showed up and the scene in Jurassic Park where Dr. Grant grabs the electric fence and pretends to be electrocuted flashed in his head. He rolled his eyes at himself and his ridiculous imagination. He climbed up over the fence and landed on his feet on the other side. He steadied his crossbow and looked the house over, searching the windows for any movement. All was quiet. He walked slowly and quietly over to the mounds of earth and the nasty smell got worse.

As he got closer, he realized that the pile of old rags, stained brown with blood was actually a body. Flies buzzed around it and as he got closer, what was left of the body appeared to be undulating and pulsing. He got a bit closer and then turned and bent over, vomiting up what was left in his stomach of Oreo cookies and Dr. Pepper. The body was teaming with maggots. There was a Police Glock .45 in the rotted, maggot infested hand.

Each of the graves had a piece of 2x4 that had been cut and placed like a crude tombstone at what he could only assume to be the head of the grave. The markers had been painted with black paint and the occupants of the graves were revealed in their words. 'Donna – my lovely wife 1972-2012' said the first one. and then down the row: 'Thomas- Eldest son 1997-2012' 'Nathan -Youngest son 2004-2012' 'Emily – Dearest daughter 2000-2012'. It didn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what had happened here. Dad had put down his family and then taken his own life. Daryl wondered if his family members had been bitten or if Dad had taken a pre-emptive strike.

There was a shovel leaning up against the fence and Daryl put his crossbow down and picked up the shovel. Breathing through his mouth, he dug into the earth and threw several shovels full of dirt over the exposed body until it could no longer be seen. He hoped that his actions would help to improve the smell in the vicinity.

Daryl placed the shovel back against the fence and retrieved his crossbow. He stood quietly and listened. No sounds of walkers and the birds still sang carefree in the nearby trees. He could hear the audible hum from the house. What the hell was that? Was a generator running? He couldn't hear any engine running.

He looked around the overgrown back yard as he approached the back porch of the house. There was a large garden close to the house on the side opposite the crude cemetery and a glass greenhouse. Two of the glass panels in the greenhouse on the side facing him were smashed and lying in pieces on the ground. The garden was overgrown and he could see what looked like several zucchinis poking through the grass and weeds. One looked to be about two feet long and a 10" around. Zucchini, he thought, the rabbits of the vegetable world.

Daryl climbed up onto the porch and stood flush against the wall by the door. He slowly reached over and grasped the handle of the outer screen door. He turned it and the door opened. He slid in between the screen door and the main door and peeked in through the glass. The door opened into the kitchen. It was large and neat and appeared to be well appointed. The appliances were stainless steel and the countertops were of rose granite. There was an island with a sink in it in the middle and lots and lots of dark cherry wood cupboards. Daryl looked around as well as he could. There didn't appear to be anyone in the kitchen. He listened at the door. All he heard was the hum he had been hearing right along, as if something was running on electricity. He tried the doorknob and it turned in his hand. The door wasn't locked. He slowly pushed the door open and stepped inside.


	8. Chapter 8

**First of all, I'd like to thank those of you that have posted reviews. I really appreciate them and they are so fun to read! Feel free to post one if you've taken the time to read this, even if you think it stinks. I have thick skin. = ) Jenny pointed out that Rick knew at breakfast that Daryl had left, but he didn't go after him until after lunch and that doesn't really make sense. That is an excellent point and I can't really say why I didn't think that was a problem. I'll try to make something up in the story to justify it. (Um….Rick didn't want all that meat Daryl had worked so hard to provide to spoil and go to waste…yeah, that's it! )**

Chapter 8

Daryl closed the door behind him as quietly as he could and stood still and listened. The house was quiet except for the sound of…wait, that couldn't be right…was the refrigerator running? The noise wasn't the same as the hum he'd heard outside. He leaned back against the door for a second and closed his eyes.

The oxycontin he'd taken had worn off long ago and the dull aches he had pushed down and ignored were asserting themselves with great vigor. A deep, throbbing pain had blossomed from somewhere underneath where Hershel had stitched him up after he'd shish kabobed himself while searching for Sophia. Now it increased in intensity. What the hell was that all about? He inhaled sharply and winced. "Gotta push it down," he mumbled to himself. "Stop bein' such a pussy." He thought of the oxycontin nestled in the saddlebags of the Fat Boy at the top of the long driveway and mentally promised himself that he'd take two of the little white pills as soon as he was able to. He pushed the pain down, told himself that he was stronger than it was, bit his lip and opened his eyes.

He did the sniff test. Nothing smelled rotten or dead and he actually detected the faint scent of cinnamon and vanilla as he stood in the kitchen. He brought his crossbow up in front of him, bolt in place, ready to dispatch any potential threat.

He pondered which strategy to use. Did he sneak around silently, going room to room and checking for walkers and people, or was the more direct route the best option in this situation? He chose the direct route as he figured it would save time and he was anxious to get back to his bike. "_HELLOOOOOO_!" He called out loudly. "_Is there anyone here?_" He listened for a response or for the sound of movement. He heard nothing. "_Hey_!" he shouted. "_Anyone home_?" He listened carefully, half expecting to hear the sound of a walker shuffling along the polished hardwood floor, anxious to greet him. Nothing. But wait, that's right, was the refrigerator running?

He shuffled sideways, his back against the wall and then against the kitchen shelf. The floor plan was more or less open and the kitchen opened up into a dining room. From where he stood, he could see a beautiful, large mahogany rectangular table on a huge blue and gray braided rug. It stood in the center of the dining room floor. There were eight ornately carved chairs with leather seats placed around the table. Daryl slid sideways over to the refrigerator and then noticed the microwave oven on the counter. The clock on it was illuminated. He raised his eyebrows. What the hell?

The stainless steel refrigerator was the kind with side by side freezer and refrigerator doors. He opened the refrigerator door and the light came on illuminating its contents. He poked around, noting several containers that now housed various types of mold. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a ghost of a smile when he saw the case of Coors beer on the bottom shelf. He closed the door and opened the freezer door. "Holy shit," he mumbled to himself. One shelf was packed full of pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream and it appeared that they were all the cookie dough flavor. There were frozen chicken nuggets, French fries, fish sticks and several boxes of frozen Di'Giorno pizza residing on the other shelves. A junk food lover's paradise.

His stomach growled and he remembered that he had pretty much lost most of his Oreo cookie/Dr. Pepper lunch. He closed the freezer door and walked with his back against the appliances and then the wall into the dining room. He stopped every few feet to listen for any sound that would indicate that he was not alone in the house.

It took him well over an hour to make sure the house was clear, sidling along the walls, his crossbow out in front of him and ready to engage any unwelcomed residents or guests. The house was big.

The first floor consisted of the kitchen, dining room, a huge great room, a pantry, two bathrooms, a laundry room and a master bedroom suite.

There were five bedrooms on the second floor and three bathrooms. He shook his head in awe and disbelief. This place was like a fuckin' hotel. It was easy to tell which two rooms had belonged to the boys in the household and which one had belonged to the girl.

The older boy's room had several guitar cases lined up against one wall and Daryl made a mental note to check the guitars in them out sometime later. He hadn't held a guitar for years. The last time he'd seen one, he had all he could do to keep from grabbing it from the Chinaman and bashing him over the head with it. His playing was just that bad.

The third floor was the most interesting floor. One of the rooms was an office with a large dark mahogany desk and a matching credenza. The walls were lined with mahogany book cases that were brimming with books. There were two laptops on the desk and a 24" LCD panel. Various pens and pads of paper littered the top of the desk. A dark brown leather couch and a leather chair sat back from the front of the desk. The huge window overlooking the lake made up the wall to the left of the desk.

Another room appeared to be a game room. There were two huge flat screen TVs mounted to one wall and Daryl could see several different video game systems on the tables below each screen. The chairs were reclining overstuffed leather theater seats with cup holders built into the arms. There were a series of media cases against one wall filled with video games, DVDs and CDs. "Spoiled brats, " he mumbled to himself. He immediately felt bad about that. The mounds in the yard had indicated that the brats he referred to wouldn't be playing any video games any time soon.

His favorite room was the large sitting room on the third floor. It had a wall made up of huge windows that overlooked the lake. There was a field stone fireplace in the room (and who the hell would put a fireplace on the third floor?) and two antique muzzleloaders crossed in an "X" were hung on the stone surface above the thick cedar mantle. Two black bearskin rugs sprawled out in front of the fireplace and there were several taxidermy deer head mounts on the walls. Two bobcat mounts flanked the fireplace and a section of tree positioned in the corner to look like it was growing out of the floor held the largest raccoon that Daryl had ever seen. There were a couple of rabbits and he smiled as he notice the skunk standing in one of the corners, his tail up and his rear end pointed toward the room. (Who the hell would stuff a skunk?) The walls were paneled with cedar and the furniture was overstuffed reddish brown leather. There was a coffee table with legs carved in the shapes of deer and a chandelier made with intertwined deer antlers hung from the middle of the room. A couple of large lake trout and a rainbow trout mounting on the walls finished off the display of glass-eyed dead animals.

Oh yes, this was Daryl's favorite room.

The last room on the third floor was locked. Daryl looked at the door and frowned. The knob was locked and there was a deadbolt that locked from the outside as well, and then two latches with two large and rugged looking padlocks. What the hell was in there? He put his ear to the door and listened. He couldn't hear anything. He listened some more. Still no sound from the room.

He scratched his head. What the hell could be in there? His imagination took off running. Dead bodies. The owner of the house was a serial killer and had dead bodies in there. No, if that was the case there'd be an awful stink. Drugs. This was a meth lab. That was a possibility but he didn't smell any acetone or anything that would give the impression that the unfortunate homeowner was hiding a meth lab. Stolen property? Bomb making materials? A weapons cache? Bigfoot?

The rational part of his mind kicked his imagination in the keister and took over again. Whatever was in there was safely locked away and unless he had proof that it was a time bomb that had started ticking when he entered the house, he wasn't going to worry about it.

The last place he cleared was the basement. The basement door was located in the first floor laundry room and he slid his crossbow off his shoulder and placed it gently on top of the washing machine. He pulled his little Beretta out of his waistband and flipped off the safety. He held it slightly out in front of himself as he opened the cellar door. It was dark down there and he fumbled for a light switch. He couldn't find one. He looked down the stairs and the light from the laundry room illuminated the basement as far as halfway down the stairs and he saw some shelves lined with canned foods and cleaning supplies.

He walked a down a couple of steps and smiled. Brain fart #2 of the day appeared on the scene. "Is there anyone hidin' here in th' dark?" he called, loudly, and then put his hand over his mouth as he was overcome by a fit of giggles. It was one of his favorite lines uttered by Peter Sellers in "The Pink Panther Strikes Again." God, that had been a fuckin' funny movie. He shook his head to clear it. What the hell was wrong with him? 'I'm probably schizophrenic,' he thought. He continued the thought, 'yes, me too.' He giggled again. Merle had always said he was crazy. Maybe Merle was right.

He saw a light switch at the bottom of the stairs and finished descending the stairs and flipped it on. The basement was concrete and windowless. The walls were lined with industrial metal shelving that held all kinds of dry goods, canned goods, cleaning products and more toilet paper than he'd ever seen in one place in his life.

One section of the basement was free of shelving and he could see two large rectangular black boxes on the floor and cables and wires running between them and a fuse box. A tangle of thick cables came out of or went into the fuse box as well. Daryl could hear the boxes humming. He warily looked around the basement. No walkers, no people, no threats. He cautiously approached the boxes. They were about five feet tall and once he was standing next to them, he peeked down at them. They were battery banks.

It suddenly hit him. Duh….those weren't skylights on the roof of the house, they were solar panels. Of course. He hadn't noticed any electrical poles along the small narrow road and it was a pretty good bet that the underground electrical system hadn't been installed out here in this remote location. This place was off the grid. He smiled a big smile. THIS was fuckin' PERFECT.

Why the hell hadn't anyone else found this place yet? "Because it's out in Butt Fuck Egypt" he said to himself. There you go, he thought, talking to yourself. Isn't that the first sign of insanity? Yes, and the second sign is when it's the most intelligent conversation you've had all day.

He trudged up the cellar stairs and shut and locked the basement door. He flipped the safety on and replaced the Beretta in the waistband of his pants. He then made his way into the kitchen and checked the keys hanging from a wooden key holder shaped like a key that hung on the wall next to the back porch door. After trying a couple of them in the outside door he found the correct key.

The front door had been locked when he'd checked it on his initial exploration of the house and the deadbolt was in place. He'd noticed that a small rectangular hole was cut into one of the lower panels on the six paneled wooden door and then realized what it was. It was a pet door with a moveable flap covering the entrance. He eyed it suspiciously. No, it was pretty clear that it was walker safe unless the world's tiniest walker showed up. He hadn't seen any evidence of a dog or cat in his exploration of the house.

It took him an hour to retrieve his Harley. He went back up to the roadway through the woods, avoiding the driveway. He didn't encounter any walkers. He had a hell of a time getting the motorcycle around the gate and he cursed himself for not checking the keys on the key holder for the gate key. He had to roll the bike off the road and into the woods to get around the gate. The pine needle covered ground was soft and the front tire sunk into it a bit, making the damned heavy thing harder to push. He gave it a good strong push and sucked in a breath hard when a sharp pain like a knife stabbing him spasmed beneath his old arrow wound. He stopped immediately, gritting his teeth and holding on to the motorcycle's handlebars tightly. His scrunched his eyes closed and new beads of sweat popped up on his forehead. Holy hell, what was that? Why did it hurt so damned much?

Push it down, suck it up, don't be a pussy. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled through this mouth a couple of times, and then opened his eyes and strained against the handlebars, slowly moving the motorcycle forward again. He finally got it onto the driveway and threw his leg over the seat and settled into it. He shifted the bike into neutral and coasted down the hill without starting it up. He parked it next to the chain link fence in the back and detached the saddlebags and the luggage sack and threw them over the fence into the back yard. The smell of decay and maggot shit had diminished some, but it was still quite pungent. He started up the motorcycle and moved it up to the tree line and parked it. He then took his hunting knife and cut some pine limbs from some of the smaller trees that had grown up along the tree line and placed them in front and around the motorcycle. He had left his new tent and new bedroll on the Harley as he sure as hell wasn't going to be pitching a tent in the back yard with Stinky and his family there. Besides, as well as he liked sleeping outdoors, his body ached and he was exhausted. A real bed would feel really nice.

He unlocked the back door and entered the house with the saddlebags and the luggage sack in tow and threw them down on the floor next to the kitchen island. He turned and locked the door behind him. He was hungry and tired. He opened the saddlebag with the canned goods and the Oreos and Dr. Pepper in it. He put one of the cans of Dr. Pepper on the shelf and put the other ones in the refrigerator. He'd worry about cleaning the moldy and spoiled crap out of it later. He opened a cupboard and found a collection of canned goods and boxes of pasta and rice. He shoved the Oreos into the cupboard and grabbed out two cans of mini raviolis. He opened a couple of drawers until he found the one with silverware in it and fished a spoon out of the drawer. He popped the top off the first can of mini raviolis and dug in.

Wow, these were really, really good. He polished off the can in less than a minute and a half then popped open the second can. He stopped eating for a moment to fish two oxycontin tablets out of the bottle he had taken from one of the saddlebags. He popped them into his mouth and chugged down half the can of Dr. Pepper. He belched loudly and then finished eating his canned pasta.

He turned and eyed the refrigerator. It was ice cream time! He yanked open the freezer door and pulled out a pint of Ben and Jerry's. He tore the plastic ring off the carton and opened it. It was so hard he bent the spoon on it. He looked around and raised one eyebrow when his eyes fell on the microwave oven. He popped the ice cream container into the microwave for 15 seconds and then took it out. The spoon met with little resistance this time. He told himself he would only have about half of the pint but he ended up eating the whole thing. The pain had dulled a bit and he found his eyelids starting to get heavy. The oxys were working. He trudged into the master bedroom suite off the living room. The bed was a king sized oak sleigh bed and the room also housed a huge oak twelve drawer dresser topped with a mirror with a carved oak frame. There was an armoire as well and a large flat screen TV on the wall. There were matching two drawer nightstands on each side of the head of the bed and the one on the right had a couple of remote controls on it. Daryl dragged the saddlebag containing the Rugers behind him and left it at the foot of the bed. He unbuckled and removed his belt and placed his sheathed knives on the nightstand closest to him. He rubbed his eyes and continued on toward the master suite bathroom.

The bathroom was huge. In one corner was a large sunken Jacuzzi tub. The floor in the bathroom and the walls were made of rounded river rocks imbedded in some type of sand mortar. There was a large open stand up shower with a huge showerhead and a bench made of river stones and sand mortar built into the wall. The drain was located in the middle of the bathroom floor.

The toilet was off in its own corner and there was a black marble table next to it. There were a couple of magazines on the table and a thick paperback book that said "Uncle John's Bathroom Reader" on the cover. The only thing in the bathroom that Daryl didn't care for was the huge window that went from the floor to the ceiling next to the tub. Why the hell would anyone put a window there?

There was a cupboard to the right as he entered the bathroom and he opened it. He was greeted by the site of a pile of fluffy clean towels and washcloths stacked on one shelf and shampoo, conditioner, soap and other toiletries lined up on another. One shelf was dedicated solely to toilet paper. He pulled a washcloth and a towel out of the cupboard and grabbed a bar of soap and a bottle of shampoo. He set the shampoo, soap and washcloth on the bench in the shower and yawned.

He walked to the toilet and put the lid down, sat on it and removed his boots and socks. He'd just put the socks on this morning so they didn't smell bad. He had dumped a whole box of Arm and Hammer baking soda into his boots after his bath in the creek yesterday and then dumped the powder out of them this morning. They smelled much better.

He undressed slowly, the motion of lifting his left arm to take his tank t shirt off setting off a stabbing pain under his old arrow wound again. When he was completely undressed, he kicked his clothes into the corner near the toilet and approached the shower.

The stone floor felt good and cool on his feet. He reached into the shower and turned the water on. The water burst from the huge shower head and Daryl stuck his hand out into it to test the temperature. He adjusted the hot/cold lever and soon had the water at the temperature he wanted, hot but not too hot. He stepped in and let the water rain down on him.

Damn, he was tired and wow, this felt good. He hadn't bathed two days in a row for months, but last night's fight had left him good and dirty. He reached up and adjusted the shower head from shower to pulse then turned so his back was to it. The water pressure increased and the water spray pulsed down onto his back. He let his head drop to his chest and the water beat against the back of his neck. Man, this was nice.

He leaned forward and grabbed the bottle of shampoo off the shower bench. He read the maroon shampoo bottle. 'Big Sexy Hair' was the brand. Yeah, that's just what he needed. Big sexy hair. He washed his hair and rinsed it, then grabbed the washcloth and soaped up his face and the back of his neck. He made sure to wash well behind his ears (echoes of an old buried memory of his mother, still reminding him to do that 31 years later) and then soaped up the rest of his body.

As he ran the soapy washcloth over his body he took inventory of the damages from his run in with Shane. He was pretty sure that more of his skin was bruised than was not. His legs were maroon and purple with big blotchy bruises and his stomach was littered with cuts, scrapes and bruises as well. The large bruise over his repaired bolt injury appeared to have gotten larger and had certainly gotten darker since he had last looked at it. His arms were cut and bruised and he was sure that his back probably looked about the same. All that rolling around in the dirt and gravel with Shane, shirts riding up, jeans riding down, tended to expose a lot of skin to potential damages. He bent backward a little bit as he glanced over his shoulder. Shit, even his ass was bruised.

He smirked and closed his eyes. Had he really kneed Shane in the nuts? Wow, that was so uncool. Shane had called him a dirty fighter when he'd done that. Shane was right. That really was a dirty move.

Daryl was getting sleepier and decided he'd better get out of the shower before he fell asleep where he stood. He yawned and reached for the big white towel he'd gotten out for himself. He rubbed his hair briskly with it and then dried his back and his arms. He put each leg up on the toilet seat one at a time and dried them off. Front of the leg, back of the leg, butt cheek. When he was dry and his hair just damp, he hung the towel on a hook on the back of the bathroom door and exited the bathroom.

His eyelids were getting heavy. The deep plush carpet in the bedroom felt good under his feet and he looked over to where the big, king sized bed seemed to beckon to him. The room was warm, almost hot and Daryl tried flipping a switch on the wall to see if it would start the ceiling fan over the bed. It did. He then shuffled towards the bed. The bed was covered with a big soft light blue cotton quilt and there were at least six puffy goose down pillows arranged at the head of the bed.

Daryl climbed up onto the bed, still naked, and curled up on top of the quilt. He buried his head in one of the pillows and hugged another one to his chest. He'd never felt pillows so soft. Daryl's thoughts turned to the locked room on the third floor. What was in it? Why was it locked? The bed was comfortable and the tick tick tick of the clock on the wall was soothing. Daryl was sleeping soundly before the clock's second hand had even made one full revolution.


	9. Chapter 9

Dale had waited impatiently for hours for Rick and the party that had gone out to search for Daryl to return. He stood on top of the RV, binoculars in hand and took another peek down the Greene's driveway, hoping to see that ridiculous pea green Hyundai of Shane's approaching. No, the road was as empty as it had been when he looked at it five minutes ago. A frustrate sigh escaped him.

Rick had left with Andrea and Glenn to try to find Daryl right after lunch. Shane had quickly made himself scarce, heading into the wood lot behind the farm house to cut some more wood. The others in the group had dispersed; Lori and Carl were headed to the far side of the lower pasture to pick raspberries with Maggie and T-Dog was helping Hershel in the barn with the horses and getting a lesson from Hershel in how to trim their hooves.

Carol was in the RV napping. She hadn't been very useful at all since the whole Sophia-coming-out-of the-barn-as-a-walker deal had gone down, and Dale couldn't blame her.

Patricia had volunteered to take watch on top of the RV and had stationed herself in a lawn chair under Dale's red and white golf umbrella. Dale gave her a bottle of water and pressed a small bag of Werther's Originals hard candies into her hand. "Thank you so much." He said. Patricia smiled and told him that she was happy that she could be of help.

Dale said he was going to go and check out Daryl's abandoned campsite as he knew Daryl had wood up there and he wanted to see just about how much there was, in case Daryl ended up not coming back and they ended up being able to use it. Dale wanted to check out the campsite all right, but that wasn't why.

He _had_ checked it out. As he walked up the hill towards where Daryl had chosen to recluse himself not quite two weeks earlier, he wondered what had really happened up there the night before. Shane was a lying bastard and he knew it. Dale was quite sure than Shane hadn't given the whole story to the group regarding what had gone down between him and Daryl, and he was also quite sure that Daryl wouldn't just pick up and leave before anyone was awake unless he had gotten some prompting from Shane.

Dale walked slowly around the campsite. The first thing that got his attention was the partially toppled stack of wood. Daryl had stacked a little more than a cord of split wood in two neat, stable rows. About a quarter of the stack was now strewn about on the ground near the stacks. Dale inspected the area where Daryl's tent had been. It was easy to see the rectangular patch of ground where it had been pitched. Dale walked carefully around this area, then to the fire pit. He evaluated what he could see and decided that Shane was a bigger liar than he had initially given him credit for.

* * *

Shane had snagged Daryl's pickup truck and had driven it into the woods so he could fill the bed with chunks of wood. If Daryl had been fool enough to leave the truck when he deserted the group then, as far as Shane was concerned, it was available for anyone to use. He had thrown a gallon jug that he had filled with water into the truck with him and he stopped to take a break from the sweaty work to rehydrate and catch his breath.

He uncapped the jug and lifted the jug to his lips. The water was warm, but at least it quenched his thirst. He leaned over and bent his head down, then poured a good amount of water over the back of his neck so it ran down over his head. He stood up and shook the water off, then pulled his t shirt off over his head and wiped his face and neck with it. Rick had been gone with Andrea and Glenn now for over three hours and it was driving him crazy not knowing what was going on with their search for the worthless bastard.

Shane had initially been surprised that Daryl had figured out what _really_ happened on his trip with Otis to get medical supplies needed to save Carl. Then Shane had thought about things and realized that Daryl was an observer. His expertise as a hunter and a tracker had honed his skills of observation and nothing got by him. Daryl had always been quiet and now Shane realized that during all the meetings and all the conversations the group engaged in where Daryl never spoke, it wasn't because he was stupid, as Shane had initially surmised. It was because Daryl was watching, analyzing, and evaluating what was being said, who was saying it and how it was being said and cataloging it in his mind.

Shane remembered when Rick had told Daryl that he had left his brother handcuffed to a roof in Atlanta. Daryl had angrily growled, "Let me process this.." That's just what the redneck did, Shane thought, he processed information he gleaned from their conversations, their body language. Daryl Dixon was skilled at filtering data gathered through his built-in Bullshitometer and at reading between the lines. Daryl Dumbass Dixon. Who'd a' thunk it?

Shane was worried. What if Daryl came back? He had been delighted and relieved to learn that Daryl had bailed on all of them. By leaving, Daryl had solved Shane's problem – worrying about whether or not Daryl would keep his mouth shut to Rick, and Daryl had solved his own problem – avoiding being killed by Shane. It was a win–win situation.

So why did stupid Rick want to go after Daryl? Daryl was an adult, if he wanted to leave, let him leave! So he brought in meat for them. So what? Shane didn't give a rat's ass if he never tasted squirrel or deer or rabbit or whatever-the-hell filthy animal the redneck chose to drag back to camp from the woods, again.

Shane wondered if they would catch up with Daryl and if they did, if they would be able to convince him to come back. If they did find him, Daryl could just tell Rick all of Shane's dirty little secrets and then ride off into the sunset by himself with no worries of Shane retaliating.

Shane berated himself for not taking the golden opportunity that morning to lie his ass off when Rick had informed him that Daryl had left. He should have said "He did mention leaving and heading east, but I didn't think he meant so soon." That would have thrown Rick and Co. off Daryl's trail, but NOOOOOOoooo…Shane had been tired when Rick had told him about Daryl leaving and his game was off. Hell, at first when Rick said Daryl was gone, Shane had thought he meant Daryl was dead. Now Shane wished that the redneck was.

He couldn't wait for Rick and the others to return and hoped to hell that Daryl had gotten enough of a head start to keep Rick from catching up with him. Shane pulled his t-shirt back on over his head and started throwing more chunks of wood into the bed of the truck. It was a good way to work out his anger at the whole stupid Daryl situation.

* * *

T-Dog was on lookout duty and the sun had gone down half an hour earlier when he saw headlights coming up the Greene's long driveway. "Here they come!" he shouted.

Dale was tending the fire and leaned back and looked in the direction of the driveway.

Lori was talking to Shane by Shane's tent and Carl was sitting by the fire, reading a Hardy Boys mystery. It was one of his Dad's books that he'd had as a boy. Carl liked the Hardy Boys and thought it was super cool that his Dad had read the very same book that he held in his hands when he had been a kid his age.

Everyone got up from what they were doing and went to meet the returning search party. The look on Rick's face was reflected in Andrea's and Glenn's and they didn't have to say a word for everyone to understand that they hadn't found Daryl. Rick relayed that they knew they were on the right track and then told of the discovery of Merle's Bonneville.

"You think a walker got 'im?" asked Shane, being careful not to say that with a hopeful tone of voice.

"No," said Rick. There was no blood and his crossbow wasn't there."

Shane looked at the ground and then back at Rick while he ran a hand over his head, "So what's the plan?" Shane thought Rick looked very tired and defeated.

"I go back out tomorrow morning."

Shane protested. "Do you really think that's a good idea? I mean, if the man doesn't want to be found, you're not going to find him. "

"I know," Rick said and sighed. "but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to try my damnedest to _try_ to find him."

Shane shrugged. "I've been working wood all day, so I'm going to take a shower. I'll go with you tomorrow if you want and we can talk strategy tonight. "

Rick gave Shane a weary smile. "Sounds good."

* * *

Shane turned and headed for the farmhouse. The minute he was gone, Dale approached Rick.

"Rick, I need to show you something, " Dale said in a hushed tone of voice.

"What is it Dale?"

"Walk with me up to where Daryl was camped and I'll show you. I think it will shed some light on what really went on last night."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "You don't believe what Shane said about what happened?" He asked Dale.

Dale smirked. "Rick, I know he's your friend, and I'm sorry, but I could throw Shane a lot further than I trust him. "

Rick gave a slight nod and said, "Okay, Dale, show me what you found."

They walked together up the hill to the flat area by the old stone wall ruins where Daryl had spent the last almost two weeks. They both held flashlights as they walked the narrow path to the hunter's abandoned campsite.

Rick noticed the collapsed wood pile right away. He walked over to it first and shone his flashlight on the pile. He squatted down where chunks of wood littered the ground. "It looks like someone ran into this," Rick said. "look, here's a mark in the dirt that looks like someone's foot skid before nailing it and look, this bare area here, no logs. Someone went down here and the wood came down on them. "

Dale smiled. "You're a regular Sherlock Holmes, aren't you?" he said.

"No," Rick said, "just trained to be observant. "Scene of the crime seminars and such."

"Do you think a crime was committed here?" Dale asked.

Rick shook his head, "I didn't mean it that way, Dale, I just meant that I learned to notice things like this at a few seminars about investigating crime scenes." Damn, the old man was suspicious.

"Okay," Dale said, "but to be honest with you, that isn't what I brought you up here to show you. I actually didn't even notice that someone had been on the ground there. I just noticed that part of the wood pile had been toppled over and figured it happened during the fight last night. "

"So what _did_ you want to show me?" Rick was really curious now.

"Come on over here past the fire pit," Dale motioned Rick to follow him. He did. Dale walked about ten feet beyond the fire pit and stopped. The ground was clear of grass and covered with a layer of dirt and gravel. Dale pointed to the ground. "What does that look like to you? " he asked.

Rick looked at the ground. Two grooves in the dirt and gravel, about a foot and a half apart and forming two unbroken lines that lead from where they stood to where the entrance of Daryl's tent had been, about twenty feet away.

Rick brought his hand up to his forehead and rubbed it like he had a headache. "Shit," he sighed. "it's a drag-mark."

Dale was silent for a second, and when Rick didn't speak, he said, "I think Shane did a little more damage to Daryl than he would have us believe."

Rick moved his hand from his forehead and held his chin, his index finger pointed across his mouth as though he was thinking. He followed the drag-mark over to where Daryl's tent had been and bent down to look at where it ended. He was silent for a minute and Dale broke the silence.

"What are you going to do?" he asked.

Rick looked back at where the drag-mark started and then glanced over at the wood pile. "I'm going to have a talk with Shane for starters." He replied.

* * *

Both men headed back down the hill and Dale was relieved to see that Shane had not emerged from the farmhouse yet.

Rick was hungry and Lori and Maggie had made corn chowder for supper and surprised everyone with a berry cobbler they'd baked for dessert. A huge bowl of fresh whipped cream to top it with was placed beside it on the picnic table. There were joyous exclamations of surprise and everyone enjoyed the treat.

The evening was winding down and Glenn was up on the RV as he was on night watch. Maggie was up on the RV visiting with him before she went inside the farmhouse for the night.

* * *

Rick sat next to the fire and watched Shane who was sitting across from him. Shane was telling Carl a story about his boyhood exploits with Rick and Carl was laughing. Rick watched the firelight dance off their faces as they smiled and laughed with each other. His best friend and his son, two of the people he cared most about in the world and now he didn't know if he really knew his best friend at all.

"Hey, Shane," Rick interrupted the giggle-fest. "Can we talk?"

"Sure, bud" Shane said. After all, Rick had said he'd go over strategy for tomorrow's search with him.

"Can we talk in your tent?" Rick asked.

"Yeah, that's fine." Shane replied.

Shane got up off the log he'd been sitting on and ruffled Carl's hair. He started toward his tent and Rick followed him. Shane unzipped the door and pulled it back and motioned for Rick to enter first.

Rick entered the tent and Shane came in behind him and sat on his cot. He reached over to where his footlocker sat at the head of the cot acting as a makeshift nightstand. He flipped on the battery powered lantern switch and the interior of the tent was bathed with light. Shane motioned Rick to sit down next to him, but Rick seated himself on the tent floor in front of Shane instead and said, "No, I'm good here."

"Okay," Shane smiled. "So, what's the plan for tomorrow?"

Rick studied Shane's face for a moment. His broken nose, the bruises, the scrapes from where Daryl had slammed Shane's face into the dirt just 24 hours earlier. Shane had said Daryl had been drinking and Rick and Dale found an empty Yukon Jack bottle up by where Daryl's tent had been. Rick had cringed when he'd read the label. 100 proof. Nice.

"Before we talk about tomorrow, " Rick began, "there's something I need to know. You're my best friend, Shane; we've known each other and been friends for most of our lives. …"

Shane nodded in agreement.

"Earlier this evening I went up to where Daryl had been camped out," Rick said quietly.

Shane cocked his head sideways and looked away for a moment; he scratched at his chin and looked back at Rick, but didn't speak.

"Shane…." Rick broke off. He shook his head. "You need to tell me what really happened up there."

"I already did, " insisted Shane.

Rick chuckled ruefully and quietly said, "oh, I think you left a few things out. Important things."

Shane looked perplexed. "Like what?"

"Dammit, Shane, there was a drag-mark up there 20 damned feet long leading to Daryl's tent!"

Shane started to open his mouth to speak but Rick cut him off. "Don't you _dare_ try an' tell me _you_ were the one being dragged," Rick warned. "If you beat Daryl badly enough so that he lost consciousness, then you certainly misled me earlier when you said he was 'fine' when you last saw him. What the hell did you do? Did you bring him down with a blow to the head, because if you did he's probably got a concussion and the last place he should be is on a motorcycle by himself!"

Shane swallowed hard and looked at his feet. "It wasn't like that," he said. "Daryl was drunk and crazy and I had to prevent him from hurting me and hurting himself. I got him in a choke hold and I guess I was holding him tighter than I thought. I had him locked in and I was talking to him real quiet like, trying to get him to calm down, to relax, you know? He was fighting the hold, kicking and pulling. I just wanted him to calm the fuck down. He passed out. He was fine, though Rick. He came out of it the minute I'd gotten him into his tent. He was just fine. I apologized for losing control and asked him if he was okay. He said he was and he looked like he was. Everything I told you is the God's honest truth. He never said a word about leaving and he was fine when I left him."

Rick leaned back and looked directly into Shane's eyes. "Is there anything else you haven't told me that might be important?" he asked.

For a second, Shane considered coming clean to Rick; telling him about Otis, how he had to do what he did to save Carl. Surely Rick would understand that, wouldn't he? Wouldn't he have done the same thing to save his son if he had been in Shane's position? He thought better of it and he certainly wasn't going to mention his suspicion that the baby Lori was carrying was his. "No," he said, "That's it. "

"Well," Rick sighed. "In light of this new revelation, as far as our search for Daryl is concerned, I think it might be best if you sit this one out. You can keep an eye on things here tomorrow." He paused for a second. "Dammit, Shane," he hissed, "what the hell were you thinking? You're a fucking expert with choke-holds, no officer in the whole damned state of Georgia executes and can control them with the precision that you do. Don't tell me that this was an accident. I'm not stupid." With that he stood up and exited the tent.

Shane stared straight ahead and didn't turn to watch Rick go. He'd been busted. If he'd had any idea that Rick would be snooping around up where Daryl's tent had been, he would have tidied up the scene of the fight and gotten rid of the damned drag-mark.

He'd know better if there was ever a next time.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

It had been almost 8pm when Daryl had fallen asleep on top of the big, comfortable bed in the log house by Mirror Lake. His totally exhausted body had welcomed sleep and for a few hours, the oxycodone had dulled the pain of his Shane-inflicted wounds. At about 1am he began to dream again.

_He stumbled through the woods, lost and afraid. A crossbow bolt protruded from his left side near his waist. It was getting dark and blood loss was making him progressively weaker. The pain was intense but he continued to move forward. He had to keep moving or the walkers that were coming after him would catch up to him. Tree branches slapped at his face as he moved through the trees._

Daryl whimpered in his sleep and hugged the pillow tighter to his chest. His eyes moved quickly back and forth underneath his closed eyelids.

_The sun was setting and the woods became darker. It was harder to see and Daryl tripped over a root and fell, coming down on the tip of the bolt imbedded in him and breaking it off. _

He jolted and cried out, a spasm running through his body.

_He moved toward a light that had suddenly appeared up ahead. It was a fire at the edge of the forest. He could see the outline of people standing around it. Thank God. He shambled toward the fire and the people. He could hear their voices as he got closer. _

His hands clenched and unclenched as he slept and despite the coolness of the room due to the ceiling fan, he broke into a sweat.

_As he stumbled from the woods into the light of the fire, the people all turned to look at him. Andrea, Rick, T-Dog, Glenn, Dale, Shane and Merle all eyed him suspiciously. _

_"WALKER!" shouted Andrea leveling Dale's 30-06 at him. _

_"I ain't no WALKER!" Daryl insisted. _

_"Hold up, Andrea," Dream Shane said. "I've got this one." He brought up his Mossberg 12 gauge and pointed it at Daryl's chest._

_"Ya gotta listen to me," Daryl pleaded, "I ain't no damned WALKER!"_

_Dream Rick stepped between Daryl and Dream Shane's shotgun. "Shane, put the gun down, you, too Andrea, "Dream Rick said with authority in his voice. _

_Daryl uttered a sigh of relief. Suddenly he was looking at Dream Rick's Python, pointed at his chest. "Why?" he asked. _

_"Because you're worthless. You have no redeeming qualities. You're redneck trash. You hurt Carol. You didn't save Sophia. You don't deserve to live." _

Daryl hugged the pillow tighter. Hot tears sprang into the corners of his eyes.

_Daryl's shoulders slumped and he lowered his head in shame. Hot tears sprang into the corners of his eyes._

_"Awww look," mocked Dream Merle who stood next to Dream Shane, right arm with a totally intact hand slung over Dream Shane's shoulder like they were best buddies. "Darleena's cryin'. "_

_Daryl looked up at Dream Rick and Dream Rick raised the P__ython so that it now pointed to Daryl's head._

_Tears rolled down his cheeks and Daryl swallowed and said angrily, "That's the fourth time you've pointed that thing at ma head. You gonna pull the trigger or what?"_

_A smile slowly spread across Dream Rick's face and he cocked the hammer back on the Python and said, "YES."_

Daryl's eyes flew open and he let go of the pillow he'd been clutching. He leaped to a sitting position pushing himself backward off the bed as the Python went off in his dream. He'd been too close to the edge of the bed and fell over backward, striking his head hard on the corner of the nightstand and landing on his back on the carpet.

He lay on his back next to the bed and tried to catch his breath. Everything was dark and for a second he didn't know where he was. Realization sank in and he started to sit up. Sharp pains simultaneously assaulted his head and the spot deep beneath his healed bolt wound.

He decided against trying to sit up and reached up to feel his head where he had hit it on the nightstand. A large bump was already forming and Daryl could feel thick warm blood on his hand. Damn, he hoped he wasn't getting blood on the carpet.

Sharp, stabbing pains tore through his head like lightning bolts. What the hell?

Oh, this was fuckin' great. He'd fought and taken out a shitload of walkers just hours before, survived being shot with an arrow, climbed a ravine _twice_ while wounded and bleeding, hauled his wounded ass back to camp only to narrowly avoid being shot through the head and now he was going to die naked and bleeding on an expensive carpet because he'd hit his fucking head on a piece of furniture.

How embarrassing. After going through everything he'd had to endure, he would be taken out by falling out of a big comfy bed and thwacking his head on a nightstand.

He laughed as he lay there on his back and then winced. Fuckin' hurts. He mentally carved his epitaph in his head.

_Daryl Dixon _

_1976 - 2012_

_Mighty Hunter - Super Tracker_

_ Invincible to both Man and Walker _

_Died from a nasty blow to the head_

_It happened when he fell out of bed_

He slowly got to his feet, sitting first and waiting for the dizziness to pass. White hot pain stabbed his head again and he cried out. He steadied himself with a hand against the wall and made his way to the bathroom. The moon was out, and the moonlight came through the large and ridiculous window over the tub, casting shadows on the bathroom floor and revealing the furnishings in hues of gray.

Daryl flipped the light switch and winced as the bright light assaulted his eyes. He made his way over to the sink, still sliding his hand along the wall for support. He grasped the vanity, stood in front of the sink and looked at himself in the mirror.

He looked like hell. His face was streaked with tears and the whites of his eyes were still bright red. His hair was disheveled and poofed out away from his face. 'Well,' he thought,' this must be what Big Sexy Hair looks like.' He wasn't impressed.

He grabbed a washcloth off the small pile of them next to the sink and turned on the water. He washed his face and then gently dabbed the back of his head where he'd struck it on the nightstand. It came back bloody and he rinsed it under the warm water and scrubbed the blood off the back of his neck. He cleaned the wound as best he could and felt it gingerly. He could feel the gash, it was about two inches long and it was deep and wide. It really needed stitches in order to heal properly and not to turn into a big, ugly scar when it healed.

Daryl was an expert on stitching up wounds, but he wasn't a contortionist and didn't have eyes in the back of his head, so repairing this wound properly was impossible. It wasn't a big deal. Besides, what's another ugly scar among so many?

He splashed cold water on his face and tried to focus. The sharp pains that had been stabbing his skull had died down to one constant dull ache. That was better. Easier to deal with. But now the rest of his body started to join in the pain-fest and he decided that when he was done here, he'd seek out another couple of oxycodone pills.

He dried his face and patted the back of his head. It was still bleeding. Damn, he really didn't want to be getting blood all over the pillowcases and linens in his bed. ('Yes', he thought and he was overcome with a childish pride in possessions. 'MY bed. MY big fancy bathroom, MY house. This is all fucking MINE. Finders Keepers.') He smiled, in spite of his body's escalating discomfort. Yes, he was the Motherfucking Lord of the Manor now, wasn't he?

Daryl guided himself along the wall to the bathroom cupboard and rummaged around until he found the first aid kit he'd seen in there earlier. He pulled two rolls of gauze out of it, some gauze pads, and some bandage tape. Back on front of the bathroom mirror, he held four gauze pads against the wound on the back of his head and held the end of a roll of gauze on top of them. He used his other hand to unwind the gauze as he wrapped it around his head. It went around four times and he taped it. He unwound the second roll and secured that with the bandage tape as well.

He checked his work out in the mirror. "I look like a half assed mummy", he mumbled to himself. As if to prove this point, he stretched his arms straight out in front of him, scrunched his eyebrows into the meanest look he could muster, curled his lip and bared his teeth. "RRRRRRRRWAAAAARRRRRRRRRR" he growled at the mirror. Yes, Daryl thought, it was looking more and more like Merle had been correct in his assessment of Daryl's sanity.

Daryl rummaged around in the saddlebag at the foot of his bed and found his flashlight. He had shut the bathroom light off as he exited the room and now he turned off the master bedroom light. He left the ceiling fan running.

He briefly considered putting on some clothing, a pair of boxers, at least, but decided against it. If he wanted to strut around in his house naked, by God, he would. Strut? More like shuffle and limp at this point.

He flicked on the flashlight and stepped from the carpeted bedroom onto the hardwood floor in the great room. He shone the flashlight around the room and into the corners, just in case the World's Tiniest Walker had arrived and walked in through the pet door and was hiding somewhere in the room. He didn't want any surprises.

He did the same as he entered the dining room and then the kitchen.

In the kitchen he found what he was looking for. The bottle of oxycodone sat on the rose granite counter next to the refrigerator, right where he'd left it.

He placed the flashlight on the counter so it illuminated the refrigerator. He opened the refrigerator and reached for a Dr. Pepper, but then stopped and reached for the Coors on the bottom shelf instead. He pulled a bottle of beer out of the box and shut the door. Ahh, the bottle was cold. He pressed it against his forehead and rolled it against his cheeks.

He shook two little white oxycodone pills into his hand and recapped the bottle and left it on the shelf where he'd found it. He twisted the cap off the cold bottle of beer and flipped it onto the granite counter. It bounced over the granite with a 'ping ping ping'. He tossed the pills into his mouth and chased them down with a couple swallows of beer. He closed his eyes for a second. His swollen and sore throat welcomed the cold and bubbly sensation.

'Daryl Lee Dixon, you know better than to mix alcohol with oxycodone! Are you trying to kill yourself?' Yeah, there was definitely a possibility that he was schizophrenic. Just one beer, he thought to himself. It won't hurt nothin'.

He grabbed another beer out of the refrigerator and walked slowly out of the kitchen and to the front door of the house. He pulled back the deadbolt and opened the door and stepped out onto the deck and into the moonlight.

The deck ran the length of the house. It was about 30 feet wide and ended about 10 feet from the water's edge. A dock out onto the lake extended from a section of the deck and ran about 30 feet out over the water. There was a motorboat tethered to one side of the dock and an overturned canoe and two kayaks on the beach leaned against the other side of the dock. There was a large rectangular slate stone topped patio set on the deck sporting a large beach umbrella and eight adjustable lounging chairs with floral cushions tied onto them.

Daryl slowly made his way over to the first cushioned chair and sat his naked butt down on it. The cushions were comfortable and he lifted the arms of the chair to adjust it. He tilted the head of the chair back about half way between upright and flat and brought his legs up onto the lounger.

The stars were out, scattered across the sky like diamonds on the darkest blue velvet and he gazed at them, searching for the constellations he was familiar with. A light breeze was blowing and the night was blissfully cool. He closed his eyes and listened to the tall pines whisper and rustle as they swayed and danced in the breeze. The sound of waves lapping at the shore and the chirping of the crickets was like music to him. Occasionally a bullfrog would express its opinion from the other side of the lake with a deep "ra RUP ra RUP ra RUP".

Daryl opened his eyes and looked out at the lake. The moon reflected a line of light onto the water's surface, broken by the small waves that had been kicked up by the night breeze. Daryl tipped the Coors up to his lips and drank the rest of the first beer. He belched loudly which silenced the crickets and the cantankerous bullfrog for a good 30 seconds before they continued with their nightly concert performance.

Daryl finished the second beer over the course of the next ten minutes and chuckled when his second loud and robust belch not only silenced the crickets and the bullfrog, but echoed across the lake. Wow, he could be a pig. He glanced towards the chain link fences and decided that later today he would walk them and see how much protection they afforded the property against walkers. He also wanted to check out the garage. At the top of the list of 'stuff to do' was to get that locked room on the third floor opened. He was damned well going to do that, even if he had to take an ax and chop through the damned door.

He watched the stars and thought of his former companions. Did they wonder where he was? Did they even care that he had left? He wasn't naïve enough to think that they wouldn't miss the meat he brought to them, but he was quite sure that none of them would miss him. Those dreams he kept having. What the hell were those all about? 'Freud would have interesting things to say about them,' he thought. He knew that Shane wouldn't have any qualms about putting a bullet through his head, but Rick? Andrea?

He decided that he wasn't in the mood to think about it, so he closed his eyes and listened to the pines whispering to the lake and the lake's waves gently splashing against the shore in response. He almost fell asleep, but roused himself enough to go back inside the house, lock the door and stumble into HIS bedroom. He nixed the idea of boxers, naked skin against the bed linens just felt so nice, and this time he pulled the top of the soft blue quilt down to the bottom of the bed, exposing the pale blue cotton sheets beneath it. He climbed into the bed beneath the top sheet and scooted over so he was in the middle of the bed. He lay on his right side and arranged one pillow behind his back and two beneath his head. He hugged one to his chest and then pulled the cool, crisp sheet up to his neck and tucked it under his chin. He had checked the dressing on his head and it appeared that he had stopped bleeding. That was a good thing.

The thrum thrum thrum of the ceiling fan and the ticking of the clock on the wall lulled him towards sleep again but before he drifted off, he wondered if he should let Rick know about this place.

* * *

Rick couldn't sleep. He was worried about Shane and he was worried about Daryl.

He'd been friends with Shane since the two of them had been in elementary school. They had become best friends in third grade and had remained best friends through high school and the police academy. They had shared an apartment until Rick had married Lori. Rick knew that he and Shane were a lot alike in many ways. He also knew that in some ways, they were like night and day.

Rick was slow to anger and would generally think before he spoke. Shane flew off the handle at the slightest provocation and his mouth usually flew solo, letting his brain catch up later.

Rick tried to avoid physical confrontation as much as possible. Shane seemed to thrive on it.

Rick was troubled by the whole Shane/Daryl incident. He knew that Shane had not given him the full story as to what had gone on and it was only when Rick had presented him with evidence that he knew Shane had been hiding details that Shane admitted he had been less forthcoming with everything that had happened.

Rick was convinced that Daryl wouldn't have left and set out on his own just because he and Shane had fought and Shane had gotten the better of him. Rick was quite sure that if Daryl had been sober the end result of the altercation might have been much different. No, Daryl had left for another reason; not just because Shane had bawled him out for not helping with the wood or the haying and then trounced the shit out of him.

Rick was shocked and disappointed to learn that Shane had kept information from him on purpose. He had always trusted Shane, literally trusted him with his life at times, and to find out that Shane was less than totally honest with him about anything was like a punch in the face. He could forgive Shane if Shane had simply forgotten to mention a detail or something that might warrant further scrutiny, but Shane had deliberately deleted important information from his report to Rick regarding his disagreement with Daryl.

And where the hell was Daryl? What was he doing right now? Was he sleeping? Where? Did he find shelter? Was he safe? Why did he leave Merle's motorcycle? Was he lying dead somewhere? Why the hell did he leave? Didn't he know how important he was to all of them?

The questions spun in Rick's head.

He would do his best to find Daryl. He had no idea how he was going to do it, but he would do his best.

He would keep an eye on Shane, too. Shane was his best friend and he loved him, but Shane was dangerous now, and couldn't be trusted. Shane needed to be watched.


	11. Chapter 11

Rick exited the tent he shared with Lori and Carl at 6am. He had barely slept during the night trying to get his head around the whole Shane/Daryl mess. T-Dog met him in the RV and handed him a hot cup of coffee. Rick looked into the coffee cup. The coffee was black. "No cream?" Rick asked quietly, trying to avoid waking Dale and Carol.

T-Dog smiled sheepishly. "I guess I sort of used the last of it." He whispered back "At least until this morning's milking. Sorry, man."

Rick smiled at the big man. "S'alright, I'll live. You got the maps?"

T-Dog nodded and motioned to a pile of pamphlets on the counter of the RV next to the coffee maker.

"Come on outside and we'll have a look." Rick suggested quietly as he took another sip of the strong coffee.

Rick and T-Dog sat at the picnic table furthest from the tents and reviewed the road map. There were notes printed on the side margin of the map suggesting area attractions and events that tourists might find interesting.

Rick pointed to a spot on the map. "The road was blocked by vehicles here, " he pointed to another spot on the map "here", his finger slid to another spot further down the blue line on the map indicating the highway and then stopped, "here" , his finger slid further down the blue crooked line, "and the last one was right here. This is where we found Merle's bike. "Rick took a pen and put a dot on the spot he had indicated. "this would mean, "he continued, "given that he more than likely is traveling on foot, that he would be somewhere in this area." Using the dot he'd made as the center, Rick drew a circle about 4 inches in diameter. "Now, is there any place in this vicinity" Rick motioned to the circle "that Daryl would gravitate toward?"

T-Dog rubbed his bald head as he scanned the section of the map within the circle Rick had drawn.  
"I doubt he'd head for one of the bigger towns in that section," he said thoughtfully, "too much of a risk of large numbers of walkers."

Rick took another sip of coffee. "I was thinking the same thing. He's probably on foot and I know he must be hurting some from his fight with Shane. I'm guessing the first thing he'd want to do would be to find a safe place to hunker down in for a bit, he had to spend the night somewhere."

T-Dog agreed. "I was thinking the same thing. What bothers me is that he didn't take his tent or his bedroll with him. I would think that in that case, he'd have to be looking for shelter, maybe a house or a cabin or something. I don't know, maybe he'd' already been down that way before now and checked it out and knew where he was going. "

"Not likely, " Rick answered. He had to move vehicles in those darned traffic snarls in order to get through them. He hadn't been out there before. I have seen him checking maps quite a bit lately, though. I just figured he was familiarizing himself with the terrain for hunting purposes. Rick paused and then pointed at the map again. "There's a secondary road here that leads out to a couple of lakes, one is part of a State park. There would be shelter and probably some vending machines there. Deserted RVs maybe. Sounds like an area he'd gravitate towards; sparsely populated, lots of woods, probably good for hunting. He might figure he could find a house or cabin or an RV out that way, too. "

T-Dog smiled. "So let's check it out."

They decided to take Daryl's truck for a few reasons.

1. They could bring Merle's bike back in it if the need to do so arose

2. The gas tank was full

3. If Daryl was hiding himself and silently watching them he'd come out hollering because they were using his damned truck. You didn't touch Daryl Dixon's stuff.

T-Dog had been put in charge of gathering and loading supplies into the truck. He placed four gallon jugs of water, five apples, three cans of mixed nuts, a gallon sized Ziploc bag full to almost bursting with venison jerky, six cans of Sprite, four cans of Vienna sausages (Rick had turned his nose up and made a nasty face when he saw those) and a bottle of Jack Daniels in the cab behind the seats of the truck.

Rick raised his eyebrows at the bottle of whiskey.

T-Dog smiled sheepishly. "Medicinal purposes only." He said.

Rick had rounded up a first aid kit, a blanket, a hatchet and binoculars. He made sure that he and T-Dog would be well armed in case they ran into walkers or something worse. Rick brought his trusty Python, a Savage 12 gauge shotgun, and lots and lots of ammunition. He handed a Beretta M9 to T-Dog along with an extra clip and a box of ammo.

T-Dog raised his eyebrows. "You expecting trouble?"

Rick smiled. "I was an Eagle Scout once, a long, long time ago." he explained. "I still try to live by the Scout motto: Always be prepared."

T- Dog grinned back at Rick, "Sounds a lot like my motto, " he said.

"Oh? And just what is that?" queried Rick.

T-Dog snapped the clip into the M9 and said, "Better safe than sorry."

They both got into Daryl's truck and Rick fired up the engine. Most of the rest of the members of the camp and the Greene family members in the farmhouse were still sound asleep as the truck rolled down the driveway, kicking up a cloud of dry dust and gravel behind it.

* * *

Daryl cracked one bloodshot eye open. He had pulled the blinds and closed the curtains of both windows in the bedroom the afternoon before and now the sun tried to invade the comfortable darkness of the bedroom by sneaking rays in around the edge of the blinds. A sliver of light shone across the carpet and up onto the bed and then into Daryl Dixon's half open eye that was directly in its path. He scrunched his eye shut. He took a deep breath and rolled over onto his right side, then pulled the sheet up over his head. His left side was throbbing with a deep, dull ache and he mentally cursed himself for rolling over in his sleep onto his 'bad' side and sleeping on it most of the night. He'd be paying for that stupid mistake all day, he was sure.

Daryl was warm and comfortable and still tired and he did not want to get out of bed. He started to drift back to sleep.

Suddenly, Merle's voice invaded his head. "C'mon Darleena and haul that lazy carcass of yours outta that bed!"

Daryl grumbled, "Go away," and pulled a pillow over his sheet covered head.

Imaginary Merle laughed, "I ain't goin' nowhere until you get your ass outta this here bed. You got a lot ta do today, son, an' daylight's burnin'. Now you listen to ol' Merle 'n get up, afore I kick yer ass inta the middle a ' next week."

"Shaddup," came a muffled voice from under the pillow.

"What was that you said? Did ya jus' tell me to 'shaddup'? Ya don't talk to me like that, boy, not unless ya wanna be wearin' yer balls on a string aroun' yer neck! Why I oughta.. blah blah blah blah…"

Imaginary Merle continued to chide and harass Daryl, the pillow pressed against Daryl's ears unable to block out his gruff and loud imaginary voice. Daryl had had enough. He popped his head out from under the pillow and practically shouted, "_Alright, alright_! I'm getting _up_. Good Lord!"

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed for a moment to get his bearings. His whole body was sore, but with the exception of his headache and the deep throbbing pain beneath the new scar from his bolt wound stitches, he actually felt better. He was totally disgusted with himself, though, because he knew that he would need to pop a couple more oxycodone pills in order to be able to deal with the headache and the ache deep in his left side. "Fuckin' pussy," he mumbled with disdain. He couldn't keep popping those pills like they were candy.

He stood up and headed into the bathroom. He hadn't realized how badly he had to pee. That's what downing two Coors before hitting the sheets will do to ya, he thought.

He felt a quart lighter when he was done and stopped at the sink to wash his hands and his face. The bruises on his face were now an angry deep purple and the ones around his neck were varying shades of blue, black and red. He had checked the whites of his eyes and they were not as blood red as they had been the day before, but they were still red, or rather a pinkish red. He looked to the left and then to the right, the up and then down. Yup, the eyeballs seemed to be working okay. He crossed his eyes. Yeah, that was really attractive.

He bent over the sink, tilting his face sideways under the cold stream of water gushing from the faucet and drank deeply.

He was suddenly struck with an idea and, leaving the water running, he opened the bathroom cabinet door and started searching one of the shelves. He moved a few bottles and small boxes around to look behind them. Vitamins, fiber pills, laxatives, acid-reducers, cough syrup and cold tablets, an old prescription bottle of amoxicillin, another one of Erythromycin, ah, here is was. Tylenol, Aleve, and Aspirin.

Daryl was concerned about his use of oxycodone lately. Not that he feared he would become addicted, but he feared that somewhere, in the future, he might end up with an injury far more painful than the ones he was dealing with now. If that happened, he'd be royally fucked if he'd squandered the heavy duty pain meds on this minor shit.

He couldn't figure out which type to take, so he ended up shaking two of each into his palm, threw them into his mouth and swallowed them, and then stuck his head back under the faucet for a few more mouthfuls of water.

He dried his face on the towel hanging behind the bathroom door and stretched. He then made his way back into the bedroom.

Daryl fished a pair of clean boxers out of the saddlebag he had brought in off the Harley the day before. He pulled out a clean pair of jeans and a sleeveless blue chambray shirt and got dressed. He had a lot to do today, but first things first.

He had fired the crossbow several times the day before and he needed to clean it and oil it. Maintenance was everything when it came to weapons, be it a crossbow or a shotgun. You had to keep the weapon clean and well lubricated in order for it to do its job. If you failed to do that, your weapon might fail you when you needed it most. It would be dumb as hell to die due to a malfunctioning weapon that could have been prevented by proper maintenance.

He finger combed his too long hair, snatched up his crossbow from where it leaned against the dresser and headed into the kitchen where he'd left the saddlebag with the canned goods in it and the luggage sack.

Daryl rummaged through the saddlebag, looking for his two bottles of lubricant oil for the bow. He couldn't find them. He had a two quart jug of the stuff that he used to refill the smaller, 8 oz. bottle with the squeeze top. He pushed the saddlebag aside and hauled the luggage sack up onto the counter and started to dig through it. Nothing. He yanked everything out of the luggage sack and shirts and boxers and t shirts went flying through the air as Daryl clawed through the bag, throwing everything that wasn't what he was looking for over his shoulders.

"SHIT! " he muttered. He'd left the jug and the bottle of the precious liquid behind.

Okay, calm the hell down and think. Suddenly he remembered. He'd put them down next to him as he sat and repacked the Harley's luggage sack with some of the things he'd carried in Merle's saddlebags. He was trying to make room for everything and he had never packed the oil for the crossbow. He slapped a hand against his forehead and immediately regretted it when a sharp pain knifed through his skull.

"Fuck fuck fuck a duck," he mumbled. He kicked the kitchen island in his frustration. There was no two ways about it. He was going to have to go back to where he'd found the Harley and get the damned bottles of lubricant.

He stalked back into the bedroom and straightened the pillows on the bed and pulled up and smoothed out the light blue quilt.

Imaginary Merle started to launch into a tirade about pussies and bed making but Daryl snarled, "Not now," and Imaginary Merle disappeared.

He dumped the contents of the saddlebag he'd brought into the bedroom the night before onto the bed. He grabbed the double holster belt out of the bag. While he would have much preferred a concealed shoulder holster, he realized that the Ruger Blackhawks were too damned big to be concealed under the arms and that anyone would probably blow a hole in themselves trying to quickly extract one from a shoulder holster.

He studied the well-made, leather holster belt. The Kirkpatrick Long Hunter double holster consisted of a wide leather belt that narrowed near the buckle. It had a 2" drop holster on each side and was made to allow the barrel of the pistol to tilt forward a few degrees, allowing for a quick draw without having to bend your wrist into an awkward position. The price tag hung from the buckle. Daryl broke the string it was attached to and looked at it. Some idiot had paid $425.00 for this fucking thing.

The old adage 'a fool and his money are soon parted' popped into his mind and then left as fast as it had come.

Daryl wrapped the holster belt around his waist and secured the buckle. He had to use the last hole when buckling the belt. If he got any thinner, he'd have to punch another hole in it to keep it from falling down over his hips. He inspected both Rugers, even though he'd given one of them the once over the day before when he'd found them. He loaded both of them and then pocketed several extra rounds of ammunition.

He placed the pistols in the holsters and secured them with the thin leather tabs that looped over the grip just below the hammer. Daryl faced the carved oak framed dresser mirror and took a look. He smirked.

'I look like a fuckin' Saturday matinee cowboy.' He thought. 'A Saturday matinee cowboy bad guy who'd got the shit beat outta him in a bar fight the night before. All I need is a fuckin' black cowboy hat an' some pointy toed boots.'

'and a horse..' added Imaginary Merle.

Regardless of how silly he looked, Daryl liked the feel of the heavy firearms that hung, one off each hip. He clipped his Bowie knife and his hunting knife to his belt that rode above the holster belt and was charged with keeping his pants up and then grabbed the empty saddlebag and headed for the kitchen.

He considered grabbing his winged black motorcycle vest, but the day promised to be another scorcher, so he decided against it.

It was hard for him to leave the house without his crossbow. He always had it with him and without it he felt like he was partially naked and exposed.

He grabbed a Dr. Pepper out of the refrigerator to take with him. A stabbing pain in his left side made him gasp and grab the counter. "Shit," he hissed. He closed his eyes and the pain decreased and faded away. While intense, the pain was short lived and Daryl decided it wasn't worth wasting an oxycodone on.

Daryl grabbed the Ray Ban Wayfarers he had seen sitting on the microwave and put them on. He had nearly been blinded by the damned sun yesterday while making his way to this place and he was happy to have some eye protection from the sun's bright rays.

He stepped out onto the back porch carrying the two saddlebags, empty except for a can of Dr. Pepper, and locked the door behind him.

He figured that since he was making the trek all the damned way back to the snarl of vehicles where he'd left Merle's bike, he might as well take some time to check out the vehicles and scavenge anything useful. Daryl had found the gate key and after hauling himself over the chain-link fence and pulling the boughs concealing his motorcycle out of the way, he secured the saddlebags to the Fat Boy and started it up. He drove up the long gravel driveway, scanning the woods on both sides for walkers as he approached the gate at the head of the driveway. He left the bike running and leaned it on the kickstand as he fumbled with the gate key and got the gate unlocked.

Once on the other side of the gate, he parked the bike again and locked the gate. He kept an eye out for walkers as he made his way to the highway. He didn't see any walkers roaming around as he passed the parking area at Forest Lake.

As Daryl rode along the dirt road, he thought of Rick and Shane and Andrea and the others. The log house he had found and claimed for himself was pretty big. It had a lot of bedrooms. It ran at least partially on solar power. He still needed to investigate the garage and get into the locked room on the third floor, but regardless, the house was too big and well-appointed for just one person. There was enough room for everyone, if a couple of them doubled up.

He shook his head quickly, what the hell was he thinking? They didn't want him and here he was, mentally moving them into the house HE'D found.

It was perfect for them, though. The location was ideal, woods for hunting and a lake for fishing, secluded, just one road in. He would walk the fence line today and see if any part of it needed repairing. Then he would eat his pride and invite Rick to come and look at it. Besides, if another group ever decided to come and take it from him, he didn't think he could defend it indefinitely by himself.

He didn't belong in a house like that anyway. He sure as hell didn't deserve it. He knew he was the dregs of society, looked down upon by most everyone but his own kind and that was okay. He was scum and before the world ended, he would never have rubbed shoulders with the likes of Rick, Shane, Andrea, or any of the members of the group. Yeah, they deserved the log house on the lake. He sure as hell didn't.

Maybe there was a little cabin somewhere on the lake. Something without electricity but with a bed and a woodstove. He wasn't a high maintenance man and didn't need much. He'd have to take a scouting trip around the lake and see what he could find.

He turned from the dirt road onto the highway and headed toward where he had left Merle's Bonneville.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

T-Dog and Rick had regretted driving Daryl's truck instead of Shane's Hyundai the minute they had hit the highway and realized that the air conditioning in Daryl's truck didn't work. They rolled down the windows, but it didn't seem to help much.

"I totally get now why Daryl rides that damned motorcycle!" T-Dog exclaimed as he dabbed at his sweaty forehead with a doo-rag he'd pulled from his back pocket. "It must feel nice to have a constant breeze, to have your face in the wind."

"Really?" answered Rick. "And here I just thought he did it to look all badass and cool."

T-Dog chuckled. "Nah, that's what the crossbow is for."

"And shirts with the sleeves ripped off, what are those for? I know I've even overheard Lori remark to some of the other ladies about his 'amazing looking' arms." Rick smiled as he recalled catching her talking to Andrea about the finer points of Mr. Dixon's biceps.

"There's a valid reason for Dixon's aversion to sleeves, " T-Dog said matter of factly. "Pulling the bowstring requires his arm to swing back and tense up, sleeves would just be too confining and probably end up ripping, anyway."

Rick thought about that and nodded. "You know, I never thought of that, but it makes perfect sense." He said after a moment. "How did you know that? Did you just figure it out?"

"Nope," T-Dog grinned. "Back at the CDC me and Daryl were both a little snockered on Southern Comfort and I accused him of running around sleeveless to impress the women with those big ass arms of his. Dixon was actually funnier than hell and kind of nice to be around that night. The next thing I knew, we were rummaging through closets of some of the docs that had worked there before they opted out. Dixon found a long sleeved dress shirt about my size, told me to put it on and button it up. We were laughin' and having a good time, so I thought why the hell not? I did and then the fucker went and got his crossbow and told me to set the arrow. I pulled the string back and ripped out the sides of the arms in that shirt. He took the bow from me and acted all mad and serious and said, 'THAT is why I don't like sleeves.' I was afraid that he was really pissed at me, but then he smiled this big goofy smile and just exploded laughing. I've never seen the man laugh like that. Not before and not since."

Rick smiled. He had gotten trashed that night at the CDC, too, and now he could vaguely remember stumbling down the hall to his room there and passing T-Dog who was staggering in the other direction, wearing a white shirt with long shredded sleeves.

They drove in silence for a while, then T-Dog asked, "Why do you think he left? "

"I have some ideas about that, " Rick answered, "but nothing I'm sure of. I'm hoping I'll be able to ask him that question in person."

T-Dog was quiet, and then asked, "Care to share any of those ideas of yours?"

"Well," Rick began, "He may have gotten fed up with feeling responsible for keeping fresh meat on the table for all of us. God knows we never thanked him for it. He might have decided to go look for Merle. He'd mentioned that a few times in the past. The Sophia situation really got to him. He was so sure he was going to find her alive. I think he's feeling guilty that he didn't. He feels somehow what happened to her is his fault. I've been hoping that isn't the reason, because that is going to be a hard fix, but unfortunately, I'm pretty sure that it is the reason he left. It just makes the most sense. He wouldn't, he couldn't face Carol and the rest of us. He felt he had failed." Rick paused. "Why do _you_ think he left?"

T-Dog rubbed his eyes. He had gotten up earlier than usual and the caffeine kick he'd gotten from the coffee was wearing off. "I think you're right about him feeling guilty about Sophia and feeling like he failed everyone. He turns into an asshole when he gets defensive, but I think that's a survival mechanism. He doesn't let anyone get too close. He's damaged. Someone hurt that man really bad in the past. "

"I hear ya " agreed Rick. "I just wish he'd learn to trust us."

They arrived at the last group of cars blocking the road and Rick parked on the left curb, next to the guard rails. Rick grabbed the binoculars by the strap and placed them around his neck. He and T-Dog exited the truck and walked toward where Merle's Bonneville sat. It was in the same position it had been in when Rick, Andrea and Glen had left it the evening before. The saddlebags were unlatched and various pieces of clothing hung out of them. There were also a few towels, socks and a few tools on the ground near the motorcycle.

T-Dog approached the Bonneville. He caressed the gas tank with the hateful insignia on it and then put his big hand over the gas cap and gave it a twist. He peeked into the tank and frowned. He stepped forward and grasped the handlebars of the bike and then rocked it back and forth, side to side, his ear cocked toward the gas tank as if listening. He looked at Rick, "There isn't any gas in this thing." He said.

Rick rubbed the beard on his chin. "He's out of gas? But there are all sorts of vehicles here. At least one of them has to have some gas in it. He wouldn't have started walking to look for gas, that doesn't make sense."

"Maybe he didn't have anything to siphon it with," suggested T-Dog.

Rick was looking around to see if he could find any clues to Daryl's disappearance. Where the hell had the man gone off to without the motorcycle?

Rick had an idea. "Hey, T-Dog," he said, "I've got an idea. Let's make our way to the end of this traffic jam and see whats at the other end. Maybe Daryl figured that since he couldn't create a passage through this mess, he'd take a one of the vehicles from here to continue on with."

"I don't know, " T-Dog said doubtfully. "I don't think he'd leave Merle's bike behind like that, and his bedroll and tent are still tied to it. If he was taking another vehicle, wouldn't he at least take the bedroll and the tent with him? I don't like how this looks, but yeah, it won't hurt to check and see what's at the other end of this clusterfuck."

T-Dog went back to Daryl's truck and brought out one of the jugs of water. He opened it and took a long drink from it as he walked back to where Rick stood next to Merle's bike. T-Dog passed the water jug to Rick and Rick took a few swallows of water before putting the cap back on the jug. He checked his Python and made sure he had a round chambered and ready to go.

T-Dog did the same with the M9 and pocketed an extra clip. Rick had two loaded cylinders in his pocket in case he needed to reload fast.

They hadn't seen any walkers since they'd arrived, but past experience had proven that walkers had a tendency to show up when you didn't expect them to and in large numbers, at that.

They made their way into the expanse of abandoned vehicles. They had to scale logs for the first hundred feet or so and it was hot and tiring work.

T-Dog's pants caught on the same limb stub that Daryl's had the day before and he stumbled. Unlike Daryl, he avoided hitting his head on the Honda Accord by throwing his meaty hand against the side of the vehicle and stopping his downward tumble. "Wow, "he said, "Woulda been a bitch to nail my head on that."

"Nice save," Rick commented with a smile. Rick climbed up on top of the cab of the overturned logging truck and put the binoculars up to his eyes. He looked all around. No walkers in view. He looked down the highway and the road appeared to be flat and unobstructed as far as he could see. He lowered the binoculars and climbed down from the truck cab and wiped his brow. Damn, but it was hot. "Pass me the water, please?" he asked T-Dog as he reached out for the jug.

T-Dog handed him the jug and he drank deeply from it and then handed it back. "We're about half way to the end of this mess," Rick told T-Dog.

* * *

Daryl braked slightly and slowed, shifting into third gear. Something was wrong.

He'd turned onto the highway from the dirt road leading to the lakes about eight miles ago and everything had been well and good. For a while. After the first two miles he noticed he was losing his peripheral vision. After another mile he was only able to see whatever was straight in front of him. Then the dull headache he'd been dealing with ratcheted things up and began pounding. It seemed to radiate from the gash on his head. The gash commemorating the brief union of his head with the nightstand. Another mile went by and he started feeling nauseous. Then dizziness set in and he had to stop. He downshifted again and slowly pulled the Harley to a halt. He threw down the kickstand and swung his leg over the seat. He stumbled away from the bike and toward the side of the road and then Daryl bent over, put his hands on his knees and vomited. His stomach rolled and hitched and he did it again. His heart was pounding in his ears and a sharp pain stabbed his head with every heartbeat, with every breath. The world started to spin.

Suddenly, Daryl knew exactly what was wrong. He'd nailed that nightstand hard in the wee morning hours. Now he had tunnel vision and a massive headache, dizziness and he was nauseous. Ladies and Gentlemen, the verdict please? He had a fucking concussion.

Oh, this was just fucking great. Why the hell hadn't he considered this might happen before he jumped on the Harley and headed off to get the lubricant for the crossbow?

He staggered over to the Fat Boy and swung his leg over the seat. He leaned forward in the seat until he was lying across the gas tank and he reached his arms down and hugged it pulling himself flush against it. He closed his eyes. This was fucking ridiculous.

Okay, okay. He'd give himself a moment to catch his breath. This wasn't the first concussion he'd ever had and it probably wouldn't be his last, unless of course, Shane or some walker got ahold of him in the near future. He could suck this up. He could handle this. Hell, he was a Dixon!

Daryl took a deep breath. Another sharp pain shot through this head. Okay, deep breath = bad idea. He took short shallow breaths. That seemed to work better. Now what the hell was he going to do? Why hadn't he felt this crappy at the house? Hell, if he'd started having all these symptoms at the house, he would have said to hell with the crossbow cleaning, it could wait one more day and he would have just stayed in and lay low all day. Maybe spent some time fishing off the dock or watched a fucking DVD movie or just slept.

He sat with his eyes closed, feeling miserable when he heard it. Low guttural moans and then shuffling. 'Oh, this is just fucking great. What perfect timing,' he thought. He opened his eyes and sat up on the motorcycle. There were three walkers, two females and one male, clambering out of the ditch on the side of the highway and climbing up onto the roadway. There were no guardrails in this section of the highway to slow them down or deter them.

Daryl dismounted the bike and reached for his crossbow. Shit, he didn't have it and dammit, he knew that, after all, he was out to get the lubricant for the damned thing.

Well, he thought as he reached for the twin Rugers at his hips, here goes nothing. He flicked the tie-downs away from the hammers as he reached for the grips and he brought the Blackhawks up in unison. He pulled the hammers back simultaneously and aimed and fired. The big guns roared and the recoil caused them to kick up in Daryl's hands. Through his tunnel vision view, he could see that two of the walkers were down, each now missing the top third of their heads. The other walker was closing in and was about ten feet away and shuffling as fast as it could towards its next meal. Daryl let her have it with both barrels, one bullet entering through her right eye and the other one through her neck, both mushrooming on impact. Bits of skull, putrid liquid brain matter and rancid blood exploded into the air and the now nearly headless waker fell over backwards and was still.

Daryl stood still for a moment. His ears were ringing and his hands trembled. Holy shit, he loved these pistols. He took four bullets out of his pocket and chambered them with shaky fingers, then holstered the Rugers. He slid back onto the motorcycle seat and lay across the gas tank again before taking a deep breath.

Daryl closed his eyes, 'Got to calm down, I need to keep goin'. I'm almost there. Don't bother with lookin' through cars today; just get the damned lube and leave. '

He couldn't go just yet. He needed to see if the dizziness would abate. If he tried to ride like this, he'd be riding right off the road and into the ditch. "Just need a couple more minutes." he said to himself.

* * *

T-Dog and Rick looked at each other at the same time when they heard shots ring out in the distance. A second later and the sound of two more shots pierced the air.

"That didn't sound like Daryl's little Beretta, " Rick said, looking a bit worried.

"Hell no, it didn't" remarked T-Dog. "That sounded like something a lot bigger."

They listened carefully, but there were no more shots fired. They had just reached the last vehicle in the large group of disabled automobiles blocking the highway, a large FedEx box truck.

T-Dog walked around the side of it and came to an abrupt halt. "Uh, Rick," he called, "You might want to come and take a look at this."

Rick had been looking over a Ford F150 and he left it and jogged over to where T-Dog stood.

T-Dog pointed to the ground in front of him and said, "Look."

Rick's eyes followed his finger. There was a pile of clothing strewn around on the ground, including a couple pairs of brand new jeans, a package of men's underwear and some new t-shirts. Then Rick saw it. The bottles of lubricant Daryl used on his crossbow. The small bottle that he used and the big refill bottle were both there.

"Okay," sighed T-Dog. "There is no way in hell he'd ever leave these here. He's practically married to that damned crossbow of his. "

Rick nodded in agreement. "I think we need to go and see what those shots were all about." he said. "What about you. You okay with that?"

"Oooh yeah. " T-Dog replied, "I am so very okay with that."

"I was just checking out this truck," Rick said as he headed back to the F150. "It isn't blocked in and if it's got gas in it and I can get it started, we can use it."

Rick and T-Dog looked the truck over. No flat tires, two 5 gallon gas cans in the bed, one half full, the other one empty, and it was unlocked. No icky dead people in it, no stinky smells and the keys were over the dash. Rick put the key in the ignition and turned it. The engine coughed, but then started running. Rick smiled and put up his hand and T-Dog high fived him. The stereo started playing the CD that the previous owner of the truck had been listening to about half an hour before he joined the ranks of the undead and Jimmy Hendrix's "Hey Joe" filled the cab of the truck. Rick smiled and put the truck into gear.

They'd driven about three miles when T-Dog noticed something up ahead near the side of the road. "Are those people up there?" he asked.

Rick stopped and stepped out of the truck with the binoculars. He squinted down the road and as he brought them up to his eyes, two shots rang out from directly up ahead of them. He ducked behind the door of the truck and he saw T-Dog had flattened himself out on the front bench seat of the truck. "Is someone fucking shooting at us?" T-Dog whispered sharply.

"I don't know." whispered Rick. "They might be shooting at something else."

Two more shots rang out. There was no ricochet or whizzing noise of a bullet passing nearby. No broken glass or perforated metal in the vehicle. Nothing to indicate that they had actually been the intended target of the shooter.

"What did you see with the binoculars," whispered T-Dog.

Rick whispered back, "Nothing, I didn't get a chance to look."

"Look again."

"Okay."

"Why are we whispering?"

"I don't know, you started it."

Rick looked through the binoculars. He could see four walkers all moving in one direction. He panned the binoculars to the left and he saw that they were headed for someone standing on the side of the road. The intended walker meal was lifting its arms and then Rick heard two more shots. He looked closer and saw a motorcycle parked on the other side of the road. He quickly passed the binoculars back to the man. "_Shit_!" he yelled, "That's _Daryl_!"

_"What?"_ exclaimed T-Dog. "What the hell is he using for guns?"

Rick started up the truck and stepped on the gas pedal. The truck roared and lurched forward. "Beats the hell out of me but he could probably use some help."

* * *

Daryl had already dispatched the new small group of walkers that had followed up the failed attempt of the first three to make a meal of him.

Now he heard a vehicle headed towards him. He was dizzy and his head still pounded. He still had that fucking tunnel vision. Who the hell was this coming? Well, if whoever it was thought they were going to take his motorcycle they were in for a surprise and if they thought they could take his guns, they'd have to pry them out of his cold, dead hands.

A dark big bald head popped out of the passenger side window of a pickup truck as it bore down on him. "_Daryl_!" a friendly voice yelled.

Daryl squinted, was that T-Dog? It was! And Rick, Rick was driving. What the fuck were they doing here?

The truck stopped and Rick and T-Dog both jumped out and ran toward him.

T-Dog stopped about six feet from him and eyed the pistols Daryl was returning to the coolest old west looking double holster belt he'd ever seen. "Well, if it isn't Billy the Kid," T-Dog remarked. "Nice guns, gunslinger."

Daryl didn't hear him. Everything was spinning and the buzzing in his head from the gunshots conspired with the stabbing pain in his head to push him over the edge. He vaguely heard Rick and then T-Dog shouting his name, then a pain sharper than any he'd yet felt seared through his head like a lightning bolt and his mind couldn't take it anymore and went into shut down mode. He gasped, his eyes rolled up into his head and he was falling, falling in slow motion. Rick lunged toward Daryl and reached out to grab him, but he wasn't close enough. Daryl hit the ground, his head colliding with the pavement. Just before he completely lost consciousness he groaned and mumbled something that Rick thought sounded like, "Again?" and then everything went black and blissfully silent.


	13. Chapter 13

**Thank you so much for reading my story. I'm overwhelmed that so many of you like it! Thanks especially to those of you who leave a review. I'm open for any and all critiques. I've been pounding out chapters like a crazy person and I've got so many scenarios for this story clogging my poor brain. I hope I can keep your interest...and now, welcome to Chapter 13!**

Rick crouched down next to where Daryl lay sprawled out on the pavement and put two fingers to Daryl's neck to check his pulse. He found it and he noted with some alarm that it was quite fast. Better fast than non-existent, he thought to himself. He watched Daryl's chest rise and fall and assured himself that Daryl was breathing without difficulty.

Rick grasped Daryl's shoulder and shook it. "Daryl?" He shook it a bit harder when he didn't get a response.

T-Dog crouched next to Rick and Daryl.

"Shit, is he going to be okay?" T-Dog asked and Rick could hear the worry in his voice.

"I'm working on figuring that out," Rick replied.

"Wow," commented T-Dog after giving Daryl a good once over, "Look how _clean_ he is."

Rick smiled. He'd noticed that, too.

Rick lifted each of Daryl's eyelids. Daryl's blue eyes were glassy under the lids and the red-pink color of the whites of his eyes made Rick sigh. He knew what had caused that. He gently grasped Daryl's chin and tilted Daryl's head back. Rick moved it to the right and then to the left, inspecting the bruises on Daryl's neck. They were purple and blue-black and totally covered Daryl's neck right up to his jawline.

"Dammit, Shane," Rick muttered under his breath. This was bad. Daryl was damned lucky his trachea hadn't been crushed.

The bruises on Daryl's face weren't too bad and Rick gently ran his hands through Daryl's hair, looking for head injuries. There was a bump on the right side of Daryl's head near his temple where he had whacked his head on the Honda Accord the day before and a brand new bump on the same side but on the back of Daryl's head. Rick and T-Dog had witnessed the birth of this bump just a moment before. No skin had been broken by this newly acquired injury. Rick made a mental note of that and then moved on to the left side of the back of Daryl's head. Rick's hand stopped when it encountered the bump and the deep gash Daryl had received when he'd fallen into the nightstand in the log house.

Rick moved up closer to Daryl's head, turned Daryl's head to the right and bent down closer to look at the wound. He tsk tsk'd and shook his head. This was a heavy duty head injury and Shane had lied to him. The wound was deep and wide and really should have had stitches. Blood had clotted in the wound opening and matted Daryl's otherwise unusually clean hair.

Rick turned to T-Dog and said, "Look at this."

T-Dog leaned over Rick and Rick pulled Daryl's hair near the wound aside so T-Dog could see it.

T-Dog whistled. "Wow, that does not look good," he said.

"I'm sure he's got a concussion. I don't know how the hell he was able to pack up and leave, let alone ride a motorcycle with a head injury like this." Rick scowled and blurted, "Dammit, Shane. You lied to me again."

T-Dog's eyes widened as realization hit. "Shane? Did Shane do that?"

"How else would it have happened?" Rick said bitterly.

T-Dog scratched his head, "Maybe fighting some walkers? Maybe he fell and hit his head fighting walkers?"

Rick furrowed his brow as he considered the scenario T-Dog had suggested. "I suppose that could be the case, but I highly doubt it. " He turned to T-Dog. "C'mon and give me a hand, would you? We need to get him off this hot pavement and out of the sun."

Rick sat on his knees next to Daryl and grabbed Daryl behind his shoulders and pulled him up into a sitting position. Daryl's head fell forward and his chin rested on his chest.

"Here, I got him", volunteered T-Dog as he slid one arm beneath Daryl's knees and the other one beneath his shoulder blades and pulled him into a hug against his big barrel chest. He stood and hoisted Daryl up further and started for the truck. Daryl's head lolled to the side and then fell back, bobbing and bumping against T-Dog's chest as T-Dog carried him to the F150. Rick jogged ahead of T-Dog and got to the truck first. He opened the passenger side door and T-Dog gently sat Daryl in the middle of the bench seat and then climbed in after him. He propped Daryl up as Rick slid behind the truck's steering wheel and Daryl's upright body slid sideways towards T-Dog and his head came to rest on T-Dog's shoulder. T-Dog put his left arm around Daryl's shoulders and pulled Daryl close and reached his right arm down and clung to the beltloop at the side of Daryl's waist. He wasn't going to let the movement of the truck cause Daryl to fall forward or sideways.

Rick smiled at T-Dog and raised his eyebrows.

T-Dog brushed the hair out of Daryl's eyes and then rested his arm against Daryl's shoulders again. "What?" he asked Rick.

Rick smiled wider and put the truck in gear. He drove forward until he came to where Daryl had parked the Harley and he stopped and shut the truck off. "Give me a second, okay?" He asked T-Dog, as he swung the truck door open and jumped down onto the roadway.

"Um, sure," said T-Dog to thin air. Rick was already standing next to the Harley. T-Dog watched Rick take the keys from the motorcycle's ignition and open the saddlebags one at a time and search through them. T-Dog looked the Harley over and smiled. It was a beautiful bike, black with red tribal pin striping, blacked out engine and black wheels, ape-hanger handlebars, a tall sissy bar with a rack and a low rider leather seat. It was carrying two large black leather saddlebags. Daryl had started to lean towards where Rick had been sitting and T-Dog patted Daryl's face with his left hand as he pulled Daryl back against him with his left arm. "Hey Buddy, "he said to Daryl, "good job. That bike is sooo you."

Rick walked back over to the truck and climbed inside. He was holding a can of Dr. Pepper and the keys to the motorcycle. He placed the can of Dr. Pepper in the cup holder beneath the stereo. "This was the only thing in the saddlebags. Maybe he was headed back to Merle's bike to get his stuff." Rick nodded toward the Fat Boy. "That's a damned nice bike." He said.

"I thought so, too," T-Dog agreed. "Seems to be more Daryl's style than Merle's bike. So now what?"

"We head back to the farm, let Hershel take a look at him."

Daryl moaned and T-Dog felt him tense up in his embrace.

Rick and T-Dog looked at each other and both sighed with relief at the same time.

"Hey, Daryl," T-Dog said in what he hoped was a soothing voice."It's okay. We're here now and we're going to take care of you. We're gonna take you back to the farm and Her-"

"No," Daryl mumbled as he struggled to regain full consciousness and tried to pull himself out of T-Dogs grip. "no…farm."

"But you're hurt," Rick insisted. "You need to let Hershel check your injuries. You need stitches and."

"No. "Daryl croaked hoarsely as he struggled to sit up straight. "Ain't ….goin'… back there."

"But Daryl," T-Dog began.

Rick saw Daryl wince for a second, then he opened his eyes halfway and scowled, "I said…No. Gotta get the lube ….for my bow." He closed his eyes again. "Gotta go….home."

Rick put his hand on Daryl's left shoulder and his heart sank a little when Daryl flinched and pulled away from him, opening his eyes and narrowing them at him, glaring at Rick suspiciously.

"That's what we're doing, " T-Dog said in his soothing voice, "taking you home. When we get there Hershel will fix you up and.."

Daryl grimaced and placed a hand on his forehead. "That ain't …home." He winced and T-Dog felt bad for him. He could tell the man was in pain.

"Okay, Daryl," Rick said, "Where do you want to go. We'll take you."

Daryl rubbed his eyes and pushed T-Dogs arms off of him. "Where's my bike? I gotta take ….my bike."

Rick shook his head. "It's right here Daryl, but I'm sorry, I can't let you ride it right now. You're not in any shape to.."

"You ain't ...the boss of me! " Daryl growled. "You can't tell me.." he gasped and closed his eyes tightly as another one of those damned head splitting jolts of pain tore through his skull.

"Daryl," said Rick in his calm I'm A Policeman And Everything Is Going To Be Okay voice, "T-Dog and I will load it into the back of the truck and you can tell us where to go. Do you think you can do that?"

"I'll tell you where.. you can go," Daryl mumbled, "straight to .." he gasped involuntarily as another sharp pain slammed into his brain.

"Daryl, do you know where you are?" Rick asked him.

Daryl had closed his eyes again and he nodded. "On the highway. Goin' to get the lube for ….my bow."

"We've got that. Now if T-Dog and I load your motorcycle into the back of the truck, will you show us where you want to go?" Rick asked hopefully.

"Yeah. Yeah. I was gonna….get you. Show you. It's safe. Ain't s'posed to be mine. S'for the group. Too nice for the likes a me. "

T-Dog and Rick exited the truck and T-Dog opened the truck's tailgate and took one of the 5x6 pieces of lumber in the truck bed and leaned it against the tailgate.

Rick started the Harley, much to Daryl's dismay, and after lining the tires up with the board, he rode it up into the truck bed, crashing it into the back of the truck cab. The crash was minor, with the only damage to the bike being a small dent and scratch in the fender, but the way Daryl carried on you would have thought the bike had been totaled.

"You ain't never.. touchin' that bike again." Daryl told Rick angrily as he sulked between Rick and T-Dog as they got underway.

Rick smiled and winked at T-Dog, "I suppose you're right about that. Sorry."

"Fuckin' bike wreckin' idjits." Daryl grumbled.

Daryl gave them directions as they drove down the highway towards the log house by Mirror Lake. He told them how he had found it and about the family that had been buried in the back yard. He told them about the locked room on the 3rd floor and that the house was set up to run on solar power.

The more Rick heard, the more excited he became. This place sounded like a perfect haven for his group.

Then out of the blue, Rick asked one of the questions that had been on his mind. "Daryl, I'm sorry, but I need to ask you this. Do you know what Shane hit you with? Your head injury, the one with the deep cut. Was it a chunk of wood? "

Daryl's face reddened and he shrank down where he was seated between the two other men. "Wan't nothin' Shane did." He said. "Happened early this mornin'. "

Rick was shocked. "Shane didn't knock you out?"

Daryl blushed deeper. This was fucking embarrassing. "Got me in a choke hold an' put me down. I was a bit drunk. T'was my own damned fault. I poked the bear."

Rick couldn't believe what he was hearing. Daryl thought it was his fault that Shane had gone up to Daryl's campsite and picked a fight with him? Then Rick remembered what Daryl had said just a short time ago about the house they were headed for.

"Ain't s'posed to be mine…" "Too nice for the likes a me. "

The level of Daryl's self-loathing saddened Rick and if he had ever doubted that Daryl Dixon was a damaged soul, he didn't doubt it now.

Daryl had drifted off to sleep a few moments after they hit the secondary road that lead out to the lakes. Daryl had told Rick that it wasn't very hard to find the place once you were on the dirt road.

When Daryl had fallen asleep his head had slid over onto T-Dogs shoulder it had gradually been sliding down the big man's chest. Now he lay asleep with his head in T-Dogs lap as T-Dog absently stroked his too-long hair.

Rick grinned. There would be hell to pay if Daryl woke up to the sensation of having his head pet by T-Dog.

Rick drove past the Forest Lake camp ground parking area. There was one walker staggering around in the parking lot. It was previously a young man and it was wearing baggy, knee length shorts. It looked towards the truck as it rolled by the parking lot, but didn't make any effort to head in their direction.

T-Dog gently prodded Daryl awake when they arrived at the gate at the top of the driveway that lead to Daryl's log house.

Daryl yawned and produced the gate key from his pocket and Rick unlocked the gate and drove through, then got out of the truck and locked the gate again.

"Wow," exclaimed T-Dog as they approached the house. "Look at this."

Rick was impressed, too. The house was large and beautiful, despite the overgrown lawn and out of control shrubs and bushes.

Rick brought the truck to a stop where Daryl had directed him to, close to the chain link fence at the back of the house.

They approached the fence and Daryl started to climb it, then stopped and stepped away from it, holding his head in both hands.

"You okay, man?" asked T-Dog.

"I will be, in jus' a second." Daryl replied. He rubbed his temples and approached the fence again and hoisted himself up. Then he was over the top and jumping to the ground.

T-Dog and Rick followed.

T-Dog wrinkled his nose, "Phew, what is that stink?" he asked.

"Previous tenant." Daryl answered and pointed to the mounds of earth and the crude tombstones about fifteen feet from where they stood.

T-Dog and Rick followed Daryl to the back porch door and Daryl fumbled around in his pockets for the key to the door. His head was pounding but he had it under control. He finally located the key and stuffed it into the lock and turned it.

Daryl pushed the door open and was surprised at the feelings that washed over him. It felt so good to be back here. It felt comfortable, it felt safe. He had a brief moment of regret when he imagined T-Dog holding a giant spoon and sitting in a pile of empty Ben and Jerry Cookie Dough ice cream containers, but he bit his lip and turned to Rick and T-Dog and said, "Mi casa es su casa."

T-Dog and Rick followed him into the house.


	14. Chapter 14

Daryl led the other two men into the house.

Rick looked around at the kitchen. It was state of the art with stainless steel appliances, granite countertops and top of the line cabinetry. This was Lori's dream kitchen. He grinned and whistled between his teeth, "Man, Daryl, this is really nice."

T-Dog looked at the collection of shirts, T-shirts, jeans and boxers strewn around on the floor near the kitchen island and raised an eyebrow.

Daryl looked at the floor and kicked a pair of boxers to the side. "I was lookin' for sumthin'," he mumbled.

T-Dog reached down and picked up a Tasmanian Devil slipper and held it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. He looked at Daryl with a shit-eating grin on his face.

Daryl's face reddened. "I didn't have no slippers," he mumbled.

T-Dog eyed the refrigerator. "Any food in there?" he asked as he took a step toward it.

Daryl quickly sidestepped and placed himself between the refrigerator and T-Dog. He stood protectively with his arms and legs spread against the cold steel behind him, shielding the refrigerator.

T-Dog was reminded of a hungry dog guarding its food dish. "Whoa, okaaaaaay," he said, stepping backward a step.

"No, no," Daryl tried to explain, "It ain't like that. You're more than welcome to anythin' in there, but I only ask that you limit yourself to one thing a' Ben an' Jerry's apiece. It'd be nice to make it last."

Rick had been checking out the granite countertop on the kitchen island more closely and his eyes shot to Daryl. "Ben and Jerry's?" he said in unison with T-Dog.

Daryl's eyes flickered between the two men's faces. He was still standing with his back against the refrigerator, arms spread and hands still clutching the edges of the doors. He lowered his arms to his side and stepped back, opening the freezer door to display the contents to his guests. "Yeah, but it's all the same flavor. It's all…."

"_Cookie Dough_!" squeaked T-Dog, his eyes lighting up and a huge grin spreading across his face. "Good Lord in heaven, I never thought I'd ever taste that again in my life!"

Daryl reached into the freezer and pulled out two pints of the frozen confection and tossed one to Rick and one to T-Dog. He fished two spoons out of the silverware drawer and tossed them on the kitchen island for them. As T-Dog and Rick dove for the spoons, and started ripping the plastic safety seals off the ice cream lids, Daryl noticed his bottle of oxycodone on the counter next to the refrigerator. He palmed it and slid it into his jeans pocket when he was sure T-Dog and Rick weren't looking his way.

"Oh Lord, this is soo good," T-Dog moaned through a mouth full of ice cream as he rolled his eyes heavenward. "MMm, mmm, mmm!"

"And cold!" added Rick as he chiseled a chunk of hard, solid ice cream from the container.

Daryl leaned against the counter and closed his eyes. He brought a hand up to his forehead and frowned. It had been quite a few minutes since he had experienced one of the excruciating sharp bolts of pain that had been roaring through his head as of late and he was getting fidgety, knowing the next one was probably building up and getting ready to hit him like a nuclear bomb.

The oxycodone had kept the sharp, blinding pains at bay and Daryl decided to heck with it. He had wanted to save the pills in case he needed them in the future, but who was to say he even had a future? Hell, he could be taken down by a walker today for all he knew. He could fall down the fucking stairs and break his neck. He could fall off of a fucking bed during a nightmare and crack his stupid head open. He would take one of the little white magical pills as soon as he got a chance to. Just one. Not two.

Daryl opened his eyes and watched as T-Dog and Rick seemed to reach the bottom of their ice cream pints at the same time. They were both scraping their spoons along the bottom of the containers and Daryl rolled his eyes when T-Dog put his spoon down and lifted the container to his mouth and started licking out the interior.

"Wash your hands, I don't want y'all gettin' anythin' sticky on nothin'." Daryl grumbled. "and wipe your damned shoes off on the mat before you go trompin' around in here."

This made Rick grin. He never in his life would have thought that Daryl Dixon would be telling him to wash his hands, or that Daryl would be worried about him tracking dirt through a house. Since Rick had first met Daryl Dixon, he was convinced that Daryl had carried enough dirt around on his person to grow his own garden. Lori had once referred to Daryl as 'Pigpen', from the Charlie Brown comics and Rick had laughed; and look! Upon watching Daryl walk through the camp one day during a particularly long dry spell, Rick had done a double take. Did Daryl, like the fictional Pigpen, actually have a cloud of dust and dirt that surrounded him wherever he went? It sort of looked that way on that particular day. Now 'Pigpen' was warning him not to track dirt into the place. 'This really is _Daryl's house'_, thought Rick.

After warily watching Rick and T-Dog wipe their shoes on the mat near the back porch door, Daryl showed them into the dining room and then the living room. They 'ooooh'd ' and 'aaaaaaahhh'd' and seemed very impressed with the rooms and their furnishings. He showed them the great room and the laundry room and the door to the basement. "The solar battery bank's down there", he told them. "Key is on the key holder in the kitchen if you wanna see it. Lots a canned an' dry goods an' a shitload a toilet paper down there."

Rick and T-Dog's tour of the first floor ended in the master bedroom suite. Daryl pulled the door open and they all filed into the room.

"This is _really_ cool." T-Dog said in an awestricken voice. "Look at the size of that damned bed! You could fit five people in that thing!"

Rick noticed an irregular red stain on the beige carpet next to the bed and in front of the nightstand.

Daryl saw him looking at it and he blushed.

Rick looked at Daryl and raised a questioning eyebrow.

Daryl ran a hand through his hair, feeling the bumps on his head as he did so, "I fell offa the bed, smacked my head on the corner of the nightstand," he mumbled.

T-Dog looked at him with sympathetic eyes and Daryl wanted to hit him in the face.

T-Dog and Rick were very impressed with the master bathroom.

T-Dog was checking out the shower when he spotted the bottle of shampoo on the built in bench. "Hey!" he exclaimed. "Big Sexy Hair! " He beamed at Daryl, "I thought your hair smelled familiar. I had a girlfriend who used to use this stuff. This shit is some expensive!"

Daryl was horrified. Just when the hell had T-Dog been smelling his hair, and why? He bit his tongue. Some questions were better left unasked.

Rick and T-Dog followed Daryl out of the bathroom and back into the bedroom. Daryl unbuckled the holster holding the twin Blackhawks and started to remove it. He was just about to speak when T-Dog pointed at the buckle.

"I was gonna take that off for you in the truck," T-Dog explained. "It couldn't have been too comfortable to be laying on it, but the belt hangs low and I didn't want to be messing around near.… well…you know, ….near…. your junk. I figured if you woke up and I was unbuckling the thing, you'd stab me first and ask questions later."

Daryl's eyes widened, but before he could even begin to come up with a retort to this TMI revelation, T-Dog quickly added, "Those are the coolest pistols I've ever seen….and the holster; it looks like something John Wayne or Clint Eastwood would wear in one of those Western movies. Where'd you get them?"

Daryl was glad for the change of subject from his junk to his guns. Between the hair smelling and the junk reference, he was beginning to wonder a bit about T-Dog, and not in a good way.

"They were in the saddlebags on the Harley. Couldn't fuckin' believe it when I saw 'em." He placed the belt on the dresser and removed the pistols, laying them side by side next to the holster.

Rick agreed with T-Dog, "Those are some pretty impressive side arms."

Daryl smirked. Neither of them had asked to handle the pistols. Maybe they knew him better than he thought.

Daryl sat on the end of the bed. "Y'all can finish the tour yourselves. Nicest room is on the 3rd floor. Locked room is up there, too. I gotta clean my bow, clean the Rugers and take a long nap."

"No," Rick said flatly, "you can only sleep for short periods of time when you've got a concussion." He looked concerned.

"Oh screw that," Daryl grumbled.

"I'm serious, Daryl."

"So am I." Daryl closed his eyes for a second and then opened them, meeting Rick's blue eyes with his own. "Tell you what, if I wake up dead, you can say you told me so."

T-Dog snorted and put his hand over his mouth to stifle a giggle.

Rick rolled his eyes. "We'll discuss this when T and I are done checking out your new digs."

Daryl threw up his hands and waved them out of the room, "Yeah yeah yeah, I don't think so."

T-Dog and Rick left the room and once Daryl was sure he heard them heading up the stairs to the second floor, he reached in his pocket for the bottle of oxycodone. With trembling fingers, he opened the bottle and shook one out into his hand. Maybe he should take two.

"One's enough, pussy." said Imaginary Merle in the back of his head.

One it was. He dry swallowed it and sat down on the bed. He could hear T-Dog and Rick talking excitedly as their voices drifted down the stairs from the second floor. Was he fucking crazy? He'd put the invitation out to Rick to bring the whole fucking group to this place. To his house. His quiet tucked away secret place. His Fortress of Solitude.

Imaginary Merle scoffed, "This ain't your house, Darleena, and you ain't Superman. You don't belong in a house like this an' you know it. Don't matter, though. When them other folks get all moved in won't be long an' they'll be kicking your sorry ass to the curb. You think they'd let ya stay in this here room, let alone this house? Fuck no, son. You'd best be hopin' there's a dog house out in the back somewheres 'cause otherwise, you've got no place to lay your big ol' lumpy head."

"You best be shuttin' up." Daryl growled.

"Okay okay, but jus' see if I ain't right, and when I am, I'll be crowin' 'I tol' you so, I tol' you so' to you like a fuckin' rooster. Over an' over and over."

"Merle, yer gonna drive me fuckin' crazy."

Imaginary Merle's voice laughed a raspy, maniacal laugh, "Son, you're already there. Hearin' my voice in your head. Youl think Shane's nuts? You're a half thought away from the nuthouse. I'm jus'here to remind you what a worthless piece a shit ya are."

Daryl didn't need any reminding about that. He was fully aware of his lack of worth. He made a conscious effort to push Merle's voice out of his head. Amazingly, this time it seemed to work.

Now where the hell was that lubricant for his crossbow? Had they even brought it in from the damned truck? He tried to recall if he had seen either Rick or T-Dog with it. He hadn't and he knew damned well that he hadn't brought either of the bottles in. Well, shit, he'd just have to go get them.

Daryl sighed. His whole damned day was messed up. He'd wanted to take a walk around the chain link fence and see if it needed any repairs and whether or not it appeared to be sturdy enough to keep walkers out. He'd wanted to make a sweep around the lake and investigate any other dwellings in the area. He'd wanted to check out the woods for deer sign and trails, go fishing off the dock and take a swim in the lake. There was so damned much he'd wanted to do that day and here he was, sitting on this big king sized bed in the middle of the day and just aching to curl up on it and take a nice long nap. What the hell was wrong with him?

He'd nailed his head three times in a little more than 24 hours and he had a fucking concussion, that was what was wrong with him. He laughed a small, bitter laugh. God, he was stupid.

First, he'd let Shane get the best of him. As he thought back on what had transpired with Shane, he guessed he was lucky that Shane didn't kill him when he had the chance. It would have been pretty easy for ol' Shane to just keep him in that choke hold until the lack of oxygen had shut down his brain and stopped his heart.

Secondly, who the hell trips and falls against a fucking parked car? Yeah, he could sneak through the woods without a sound, as nimble and sure footed as a mountain goat, but walking through a section of highway filled with immobile cars, he was as clumsy as a drunken sailor, tripping and smacking his head on one. Fucking stupid.

Then the _pièce de résistance_ , falling out of a bed and splitting his head open on the corner of the nightstand. Scratch that, falling out of a_ king sized_ bed and splitting his head open on the corner of the nightstand. King sized beds were huge. How the hell could you fall out of one?

God, he was a pathetic idiot.

As he sat on the end of the bed and mentally berated himself, he felt his eyelids start to get heavy. He hadn't experienced any sharp pains in his skull for a little while and the corners of his lips turned up in the hint of a smile. The low, throbbing pain had been all but eliminated and his head felt better than it had most of the day. Unfortunately, the ache under his arrow wound scar was now acting up.

'The oxy just needs time to work,' he thought. Of course his head would feel better first, the bloodstream would carry the opiates to his brain first, right? He just had to wait a bit and the throbbing in his left side would start to disappear. He was sure of it.

He pulled himself up the rest of the way onto the bed and scooted up to the head of it. He arranged two pillows under his head as he lay on his back. The pillows were soft enough so that his head sank into them and it didn't make his head injuries feel any worse. He closed his eyes and started to drift off to sleep.

Someone was poking his face. Daryl yelped and his eyes flew open and he was greeted by Rick's face which was about three inches from his own. "What the hell?" he griped loudly as he tried to scramble backward away from Rick.

"Sorry, man, I'm sorry," Rick said guiltily, but you really shouldn't sleep for too long when you've got a concussion."

"Dammit, Grimes, I just barely nodded off." Daryl growled.

"No," a small smile played around Ricks lips, "no…you fell asleep about two hours ago. When me and T-Dog came back downstairs, you were sound asleep. We checked out the basement and the front deck and the boat. I hope you don't mind."

"Two hours?" asked Daryl, "really?"

"Really." Rick grinned sheepishly and said, "don't kill me, but I took the liberty of snagging a couple of beers out of the 'fridge for me and T-Dog. It was really nice to just sit on the deck and relax. This is a really, really great place you have here, Daryl."

Daryl sat up.

"T-Dog brought your crossbow lubricant into the house; it's on the kitchen shelf. We also unloaded your Harley. That's a really sweet bike, Dare."

Daryl smirked. 'Dare?' Andy Griffith was giving him a nickname now?

T-Dog came into the room. "Man, that den with the animals in it on the third floor is awesome. Right up your alley." He smiled, then added, "Hey, Daryl. You want some company tonight?"

Daryl looked confused. "What?"

Rick sat on the bed near Daryl. "I'm going to head back to the farm, let the others know we found you and talk to them about this place. T-Dog can stay here, keep an eye.." Rick back peddled, "keep you company, if that's okay with you."

Daryl smirked at Rick and then looked at T-Dog. 'Keep an eye on me? Fuck that!', he thought.

"Nah, T, you need to go back with Rick. I know the watch schedule's been all fucked up since I stopped takin' watches. I don't wanna piss off any more people than I already have."

T-Dog looked disappointed. "You sure, man?"

"I'm sure."

"I'll be back tomorrow," Rick promised.

"Okay," Daryl answered. "If I ain't here when you get here, the back door key will buried under that little gray flat rock on the right of the first step out back."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "Buried where?"

Daryl smirked, "I'm fuckin' with you. You can take the spare key hangin'on the key rack. It's got a tag on it. It says 'spare key'. "

Rick stood up to leave the room. "How convenient," he remarked.

Daryl got to his feet and followed Rick and T-Dog out into the great room and through the dining room into the kitchen.

They exchanged goodbyes and suddenly T-Dog had Daryl in a bone-crushing bear hug.

Daryl was _not_ expecting this from the big man and stood rigid with his arms tight at his side as T-Dog became T-Bear and tried to squeeze the breath out of him. Well, it felt like it, anyway.

T-Dog broke away and smiled a big smile. "I'm so glad that you're okay, man. So glad." he said.

Daryl was speechless for a second, and then he heard "Thanks, I guess," stumble out of his mouth.

T-Dog and Rick exited the house still calling their goodbyes and promising to be back soon.

Daryl shut the door behind them, being careful not to slam it like he wanted to. He locked it and then turned around and leaned his back against it. He waited and listened, and in a little more than five minutes he heard the F150 start. He listened to the sound of the engine fade as T-Dog and Rick drove away.

Daryl closed his eyes and slid his back down the door, sinking into a sitting position. What the hell had he gotten himself into? Pretty soon his nice quiet hideaway would be full to the brim with people and noise. He just couldn't leave well enough alone, could he?

No, he had done the right thing; after all, he didn't belong here. This place was way too nice for the likes of Daryl Dixon and way too big for just one person. He sat on the floor for a few more minutes and then scrambled to his feet. His head felt so much better, but now his left side was throbbing. 'Push it down, don't be a pussy.'

His stomach growled loudly. "Shuddap" he grumbled. Daryl walked over to the freezer and pulled it open. He scanned the contents and smiled a small smile. He was hungry and he was sure that a hot DiGiorno pizza would hit the spot just right.


	15. Chapter 15

T-Dog hadn't shut up from the second he and Rick had seated themselves in the F150 after leaving 'Daryl's House'. He prattled on and on about the house, about Daryl, about beer and ice cream. Rick smiled as the big man talked non-stop as they turned onto the highway at the end of the dirt road that had led out to the lakes. He finally paused for breath, and then asked, "What do you think, do you think we should all move out there?"

Rick was silent for a moment and then he sighed. "I don't know. I mean, the place is awesome. It's roomy, comfortable, and the fact that its set up with solar power is just amazing. Its secluded, the house is fenced in and there's only one road access which is a great safety feature."

"Exactly," smiled T-Dog. "So what would hold you back?"

"Hershel has been good to us. I know he would like us gone, but he has taken care of us and opened his land and his resources to us. I think that before we go anywhere, we need to make sure the haying is done and that we've put up enough wood for his family for the winter."

T-Dog nodded. "I can understand that."

"Then there's the Daryl situation," Rick continued. "Daryl separated himself from us back at Hershel's place. He obviously didn't feel like he belonged in the group and then he picked up and left without letting anyone know where he was going or why he was leaving. Now he's found a place that he is obviously comfortable in. Do you really think that he wants us all moving in with him after he cut all ties with us by leaving?"

T-Dogs face fell. "But he asked us to move in! He wants us there! He even said it was too big for just one person and that he couldn't protect it on his own if another group came along and tried to take it from him. He shared his ice cream with us! He said it was supposed to be for the group! He changed his mind about being part of the group. He knows we saved his ass out on the highway today."

"Yes," Rick said, "and that is another of the many things that bothers me about this whole situation. What if Daryl asked us to move in out of a sense of obligation? What if he only asked because he feels he owes us? I'm betting that if he hadn't passed out, he would have been on that Harley the minute he saw us and headed in the opposite direction as fast as he could go."

"So he feels like he owes us. How is that a problem?" asked T-Dog. "So we move in, relieve his sense of obligation and _waah laah_! Everybody wins!"

Rick smirked. "Okay. So just say we do that. We move in and Daryl no longer feels obligated to us. Wouldn't he start feeling resentful? He already feels like he doesn't belong in that house, like its too good for him. Did you catch the remarks he made about not deserving a place like that and that it wasn't made for someone like him? I'm willing to bet that if we all move into that house, he will be out of there and gone somewhere else inside of two weeks."

"Well, maybe we could set something up so he could have privacy. The master bedroom suite has its own bathroom and is pretty roomy. Maybe we could take out one of the windows in it and put a door or an entranceway there so he could go in and out without having to go to the front or back door and risk bumping into anyone."

Rick nodded as he watched the road ahead of him . "That's a really good idea, but let me ask you this. Can you honestly tell me, if we do move in there, that the fact that Daryl has the biggest room in the whole house won't cause a ruckus?" In his mind, he could already see Lori complaining, "_We_ should have that room, it's big enough for four people! Dixon doesn't need a king sized bed! Who the hell does he think he is.." and so on and so forth.

"Why would it?" T-Dog asked. "Daryl found the place, he should have whatever damned room he wants. Anyone who thinks differently needs to pull their head out of their ass and be grateful that the man even considered telling us about the place."

"Oh, I agree. But do you honestly think that everyone will go along with that?"

T-Dog sighed. Yeah, Lori might complain and Dale might belly ache about having to climb up and down stairs to get to a bedroom. He had been complaining about his arthritis lately, but T-Dog suspected it was just to get out of wood hauling duty.

"_So_ what! We'll take a vote an override whoever wants to be a dick about Daryl getting the master suite. Any bed in a bedroom is a step up from the floor of a tent! I know he wants us there, Rick, for heaven's sake, he shared _ice cream_ with us!"

Rick smiled at this, "Yeah, after you made a beeline for the refrigerator. He knew you would find it..and what was he supposed to do, look at us and say, "I'm sorry, I've got about twenty pints of ice cream here and you can't have any, nyah nyah nyah, pfffffffffft?" Rick finished with a Bronx cheer.

T-Dog hadn't thought about that.

"He's Daryl fucking Dixon, I could totally see him telling us to fuck off and that he'd cut our nuts off if we touched his ice cream. As a matter of fact, that would have surprised me less than him sharing it with us like he did."

"Again," said Rick, "I'm going with feelings of obligation being the motivating factor there."

T-Dog scowled. "What, you don't think Dixon can be nice just for the sake of being nice?"

Rick raised his eyebrows doubtfully and bit his lip. A few seconds passed and then he burst out laughing.

T-Dog had snorted and started laughing at the same time.

"Oh, we're awful," laughed Rick. "Of course he can. I was just overcome with the memory of that scowl on his face as a sting of squirrels came flying through the air in my direction."

T-Dog smirked. "Yeah? Well at least you never had that damned crossbow in your face with an arrow about an inch from your head. I about shit my pants."

That got them both laughing again. They settled down after a few minutes and soon they were at the blocked section of the highway. Rick shut off the truck and he and T-Dog stepped out of it into the late afternoon heat and started to make their way through the tangle of vehicles and logs to Daryl's truck.

* * *

Daryl scooped up the clothing that was scattered on the kitchen floor and piled it on the kitchen island. He was barefoot and he found one of the Tasmanian Devil slippers on the floor kicked partially under the stove. He slid his right foot into it and then scanned the floor for the other one. He didn't see it anywhere so he went around the back of the island toward the dining room. Ah, there it was, half way between the island and the dining room entrance. He lifted his foot and grabbed the edge of the slipper with his toes and flipped the upside-down slipper over. He smiled to himself at his aversion to bending over. He tended to kick his boxers off, usually pulled his socks off with the toes of his other foot and would pick a quarter up on the floor with his toes, bringing his foot up almost to waist level to put it in his hand. No one could say he wasn't flexible.

Carl had witnessed the reason for this strange habit one day back at the Atlanta camp before Merle's unfortunate encounter with Rick.

Daryl and Merle had just gotten back from a hunt where Daryl did most of the hunting and Merle did what he liked to call the 'supervising' . 'Supervising' meant sitting on a large rock or log in a clearing and drinking whiskey while Daryl hunted.

Merle was carrying the squirrels Daryl had shot and Daryl was holding his crossbow, cleaning it off as he walked with the red rag that always hung out of his back pocket. The rag slipped out of his fingers and onto the ground and without thinking he bent over to pick it up.

Carl was sitting on a log next to the RV, lazily half watching the Dixon brothers as they sauntered by when suddenly Daryl was flying forward through the air, his arms outspread like Superman getting ready to take off. Carl jumped. Daryl's crossbow went flying and Daryl landed on his stomach with an audible "Ooof".

Merle grabbed his belly and laughed and laughed as Daryl got to his knees and grabbed his crossbow.

"Are you alright, son?" asked Dale, who had emerged from the RV just in time to see Daryl land on his stomach in the dirt.

Daryl's face turned scarlet and he mumbled "I'm fine," as he got to his feet. He turned to Merle, who was laughing so hard that he could hardly breathe and snarled, "You fucking jackass," and stalked off toward his tent, flushed with anger and embarrassment.

It had been going on since Daryl was about seven years old. Any time that Merle happened to catch Daryl bending over, whether it was to pick something up off the ground, getting into the clothes dryer to retrieve clean clothes; for any reason, actually, Merle took it as an invitation to kick Daryl in the ass.

Carl had been shocked by this childish display on the part of Merle Dixon, but he had also been secretly amused.

Daryl had gotten Merle back good the next afternoon. Merle had bent over to pick up the bottle of Jim Beam bourbon next to the tree he had been lounging against as he had been taking pulls off the bottle and Daryl took advantage of Merle's position and kicked him in the pants as hard as he could. Merle lost his balance and staggered forward and collided with the tree. "I'm gonna fuckin' _KILL YA_!" he roared at Daryl who was already sprinting off in the opposite direction.

Daryl was laughing so hard as he ran through the woods, jumping over logs and dodging around trees, that Merle almost caught him. Daryl waited a couple hours and then quietly returned to the Dixon campsite. Merle had gotten over it and congratulated Daryl on getting him good and warned him that payback was a bitch.

Daryl folded the clothes that he'd thrown on the kitchen island and stacked them up. His mind drifted as he folded and stacked and he could almost hear Robin Leach's voice (and was anyone ever more appropriately named?) from "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous" narrating as he folded. "Yes, Daryl Dixon is the world's most eligible bachelor in these post apocalyptic times. From rundown trailer to a beautiful house by the lake; dashing Daryl rides a badass Harley and not only can he protect you ladies from walkers with his mighty crossbow, he can also heat up frozen pizza in a microwave and fold and stack your unmentionables!" Daryl dismissed the foolish thought and sighed. Damned brain farts.

He opened the refrigerator door and pulled two bottles of Coors out from the bottom shelf. He pushed the door shut with a Tasmanian devil clad foot, shifted the beer to the crook of his right arm and grabbed his crossbow with his left hand. He slung it over his shoulder and grabbed the small bottle of lubricating oil and a rag from where he'd put it aside next to the stack of clothes and headed for the deck.

He sat down at the table and pulled and unsnapped a leather pouch from his belt and tossed it on the table. He opened the small pouch and withdrew a small piece of sheepskin and a small round container of beeswax. He dipped the patch of sheepskin fleece, taking up a piece of wax about the size of a dime and then started running it along the bow string. Strings needed to be waxed after every ten or fifteen arrows shot or the string would fray and snap. He checked the strings as he worked to see if they needed replacing. They were fine, still strong and no fraying. He put the wax and the sheepskin patch back in the pouch when he was finished and attached it to his belt again. Then he took the lubricant he'd made of neatsfoot oil and beeswax along with some linseed oil and oiled the metal parts of the crossbow. He was careful to oil rail and the cams and he check all the screws and cleaned both ends of the scope.

An hour and two beers later, he was done. It was still warm out and he really wanted to get into the water for a little while. He doubted he would be doing much swimming once everyone else had moved in.

Daryl fell asleep in one of the cushioned patio chairs on the deck. He didn't meant to.

He had pulled himself out of the water and onto the dock after spending more than an hour in the lake swimming, floating and thinking. He sat on the end of the dock for another half hour, his feet dangling in the water, watching the sun slip below the horizon in the west, leaving a pinkish blue twilight glow. The stars began to make their appearance. One here, one there. More and more stars revealed their twinkling selves as the azure blue of twilight deepened and joined with the sapphire blue of the night sky and invited them to show themselves. A cloud drifted across the sky, temporarily hiding the winking stars as it moved slowly towards the east.

Daryl chewed on his thumbnail as he swung his feet back and forth through the water. An owl hooted from the woods on the right of him and another one answered from across the lake. He cocked his head and listened. "Hooha hoo hoooo hooooo." He nodded slightly. Great horned owl. One of his chief competitors for squirrels.

Daryl got to his feet as the owls continued their conversation. He walked over to the closest patio chair and sat down, sinking into the cushions. He reclined in the chair and stared up at the stars. It was a beautiful night and he'd lie here and enjoy it for a few more minutes, then go inside and go to bed. His headache was gone for the moment and the dull pain in his left side was maintaining a steady, tolerable level of discomfort.

He closed his eyes. Tomorrow he would get things done. He didn't need to hang around or even be here when Rick came back. He had fences to check, hunting to do, a garage to explore and a secret room to open. Hopefully, his stupid head would cooperate and he wouldn't be distracted by the effects of a friggin' concussion.

He woke up over an hour later to the sensation of rain falling on his face. He sat up and stretched and yawned. The light rainfall made a quiet pinging noise as it fell across the lake.

Daryl slid his feet into his slippers and was getting ready to jog to the door as the rain started coming down harder when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He turned and looked out across the lake. There it was again. A flicker of light along the trees. He brought his right hand up to shield his eyes and squinted into the rain, trying to see across the lake. The light didn't show itself again. He stood in the rain for another ten minutes, waiting to catch another flash of light. Was it a flashlight? Was someone lurking around on the other side of the lake? Had he really seen the flashes, or was his concussed brain playing a cruel joke on him? This made Daryl nervous and his survival reflexes kicked in. Soon he felt his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing speed up. His muscles tensed, ready for either a fight or a fast retreat. Lightning streaked across the sky followed by the deep rumble of thunder.

The rain came down in torrents and the lightning walked and the thunder talked. Bolts of lightning like glowing tree branches flashed in the sky, followed by deafening crashes. The wind picked up until it started to howl and it shook the pines back and forth as the rain blew sideways and beat against the house, drumming at the windows.

Daryl stood still as the storm engulfed him, trying to see through the rain, looking toward the other side of the lake. The lightning lit up the whole lake as it flashed.

Daryl suddenly remembered being four years old and clinging to his mother on a stormy night as she sat on his bed, holding him close to her and wiping tears from his cheeks. "God's just moving furniture around. " she'd told him. "And he's not sure if he likes where he put it, so he takes a picture of it with his flash camera. Then he moves it somewhere else and takes another picture. When the storm is over, its' because he's done moving things around, for a little while anyway." Daryl had closed his eyes and listened and to his four year old ears the thunder _did_ sound like someone was pushing a big heavy dresser across a wood floor. Didn't it?

Daryl did not see the light across the lake again. He considered grabbing his crossbow and taking a walk to the other side of the lake, but dismissed the idea. He couldn't see ten feet in front of him with this rain. What the hell did he think he'd find, walking around in this unfamiliar woods in the middle of a storm? Besides, IF there was someone sneaking around in the woods on the other side of the lake and IF whoever it was had their eye on his house, he would need more information before he went trotting off to confront them.

Maybe there was a large group nearby and they had sent out a lone scout to check out the area. Maybe it was just one person traveling alone, lost in the rain.

"Maybe it was E.T. looking for a fuckin' phone." Imaginary Merle added, helpfully.

Or maybe it was just the result of a bruised brain.

Daryl was soaked and the rain was still coming down hard. He retreated to the front door and stepped into the house, locking it behind him and sliding the dead bolt over. He stood in the dark of the great room as the storm crashed around the house, rain pounding the windows and lightning lighting up the room for seconds at a time, coloring the furnishings a ghostly bluish gray and deepening the shadows.

Daryl walked quietly into the kitchen, leaving small puddles of water on the hardwood floor marking his path. He double checked that the back door was locked and securely bolted and that the windows were locked as well.

He didn't like this one bit. Paranoia was setting in and he began to imagine that someone had been watching the house, watching him, and that they were outside in this storm right this very second, sneaking along the side of the house and peeking in the windows, looking for a way inside. He snorted. "Get a fuckin' grip, Dixon."

He snuck back to his bedroom, ghosting along the walls of the dining room and the great room before he slid along the wall into his own room. He would leave the door open tonight and he wasn't going to take a damned thing for the pain that was now announcing its presence in his head as well as its intention to compete with the pain in his left side for his attention. He slipped into the bathroom and grabbed the towel off the back of the door, taking it with him into the bedroom. He wasn't going to towel off in the bathroom, because IF someone was sneaking around outside it would be just his luck that he would be drying off and a good bolt of lightning would light up the sky; and in that split second, he'd see someone peeking in at him through that fucking big ridiculous window by the tub. No thanks.

He dried himself off and reached into his saddlebag and after feeling around; he pulled out a pair of boxers and put them on. He quietly removed both Rugers from the dresser, checked the cylinders and put the loaded pistols on the bed near the pillows. He took his Bowie knife out of its sheath and put on the bed and slid his hunting knife into the nightstand drawer.

Daryl then pulled the quilt down to the bottom of the bed. He pulled the top sheet down a bit and climbed into bed, pulling top sheet up to the middle of his chest. The Rugers went under the pillow he rested his head on; the Bowie knife went under the pillow to the right of it.

He smiled as the thought crossed his mind. 'Watch me have a nightmare and accidently blow my own damned head off.'

He didn't turn the ceiling fan on and after about five minutes, he got up and took the clock off the wall and stuck it in the bathroom cupboard, burying it halfway down in a stack of clean towels. How the hell was he supposed to listen for potential intruders with that damned 'tick tick tick' going on?

Daryl turned onto his right side. His headache wasn't too bad, but the pain thrumming deep underneath the new scar on his left side was worse than it had been. He bit his lower lip and mumbled "fuckin' Shane." He was quite sure it was going to be a very long night.

* * *

Lori, Carl, Glen and Maggie ran to greet Rick and T-Dog when they returned to the campsite at the Greene farm. When Rick and T-Dog exited Daryl's truck with big smiles on their faces, the others knew that their search for Daryl had been successful.

Carl peeked into the cab of the truck and then into the truck bed. "Where's Daryl? I mean, you found him, right? Isn't that why you look all happy?

"Yes, " Rick smiled. "We found him. We all need to sit down and I'll explain everything."

Glen looked worried. "Is he okay?"

Rick clapped Glen on the shoulder. "Like I said, I'll explain everything. "

Everyone was asked to gather around the two large picnic tables in front of the RV in ten minutes and Rick paced as T-Dog watched him from his seat on one of the picnic table benches. T-Dog finally said, "You look as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs."

Rick smiled. "I'm just trying to find the best way to present this, you know?"

"Hmmmm…" T-Dog rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "You could tell 'em about the ice cream."

Everyone but Carol sat to hear what Rick had to say. Carol had elected to stay in the RV, but Rick knew the windows were open and he was quite sure that she was listening in on the little meeting he'd called.  
"We found Daryl, and he's going to be fine. We..."

"Wait," Andrea interrupted. "_Going _to be fine? What's wrong with him?"

Rick saw Shane sit back in his lawn chair and bite his lip, 'waiting for the shoe to fall' thought Rick.

"He took a fall; hit the back of his head. He's still recuperating, but it isn't anything debilitating. When Daryl left here, he went to check out couple of lakes about forty miles west of here. The first one was the site of a State park, and he ran into some walkers there. The second lake is surrounded by private land. Daryl found a house on the lake. There was no one living there. The place is amazing. "

"A house? By a lake? What, you think we all should take a vacation, Rick? This is a waste of time." Shane was disgusted and started to stand up to leave.

Rick fixed him with a stern stare. "Let me finish…"

Shane looked at Rick, sighed, and sat back down. He leaned back in his chair.

"This house is huge. It is surrounded by a chain link fence which will certainly be helpful in keeping walkers away from it and it has six bedrooms with the potential to make at least two of the other rooms into bedrooms as well. The water is supplied by an artesian well and .."

"A house that big? We'll be spending all of our time looking for gas for the generators!" Shane scoffed.

Rick smiled. "It's solar powered."

Dale smiled.

"_What?_" Shane stared at Rick with disbelief.

"There is only one road in and out, the road is gated, and the front of the house is right on the lake, so no one and nothing can sneak up on us from the front of the house. That reduces the pressure on whoever is on guard duty."

Shane leaned forward in his chair and stared at Rick. "It's solar powered? Seriously?"

Rick smiled. "Yes, and from what we were able to see, the power is on and working like a charm. No loud generators and all the gas we find once we're there can be used in our vehicles. "

"Does Daryl know you're planning on moving in?" Shane asked; arms crossed in front of his chest.

"Daryl _invited_ us to." T-Dog beamed.

Shane made some comment under his breath along the lines of "that must have been one helluva head injury"

"He gave us ice cream," T-Dog added.

Rick rolled his eyes.

"Wait," Glenn said. "You guys had ice cream? With _Daryl_?"

"Yeah," T-Dog nodded, "Ben and Jerry's Cookie Dough."

Shane leaned back in his chair and snorted while the others started exclaiming and asking questions about the house and about the ice cream.

Carl was anxious to know if there was any left.

"So, you boys had a nice little ice cream social with Daryl." Shane mocked. "Isn't that nice. You can't be serious! You just expect us to pick up and leave?"

"No, not at all." Rick explained. "We still need to get the hay and the wood in for winter, but Hershel has made it clear that he expects us to move on. He is not going to be extending his hospitality to us forever. Fall will be here soon and then winter. Wouldn't you rather spend the winter in a warm house with running water and heat than in a tent?"

There were murmurs of agreement all around.

"This is what I'd like to do. Tomorrow T-Dog or I will take two of you with us to show you the place. We'll do this until everyone who wants to see it has had the chance to do so. Then we can see if moving there is something that we want to do. Does that sound reasonable? "

Surprisingly enough, even Shane found that to be a reasonable course of action.

Dale spoke up. "What about Daryl. Is he really okay with this? The last time any of us saw him, he didn't want to talk to us or even be anywhere near us. He left to get away from all of us. Now he wants us to move in with him? This just isn't making sense."

Rick sighed. "Daryl is still working out some…..issues. The way the house is set up and with some modifications we're planning on making, Daryl will be able to have his privacy and I hope we can all respect that. "

Andrea and Shane were chosen to be the first in the group to travel to the house by the lake. Because Shane was going, it was decided that Rick would be the one to take them there.

Several questions about the house were asked around the fire that evening and everyone's mood seemed to be improved with the prospect of a new and more secure home.

A storm came through the camp that night after everyone had retired for the night. Heavy winds blew boughs down and toppled Andrea's tent, and she was forced to seek shelter in the RV, sleeping on the floor by where Carol slept on the pull out bed.

Glen, Shane and Rick, Lori and Carl ended up wet and miserable as the heavy rain pummeled their tents, causing the tents to leak.

Shane hugged his damp sleeping bag to his chest as he lay on his cot. The wind whipped outside and water was dripping from several places on the ceiling of his tent. Drip. Drip. Drip. The water dripped onto his cheek. He scooted a little to the left to get out of the path of the dripping water. Drip. Drip. Drip. He had positioned himself under another leaky spot.

Shane's mind was in overdrive. Had Daryl said anything to Rick about Otis? About Lori? Shane didn't remember hitting Daryl in the head with anything but his fist, so had Daryl really been injured after he left the camp? Why was he inviting them to a house that he had obviously gone looking for for himself? Had Daryl decided to keep his mouth shut, or was he waiting for the best time to pull the rug out from under him? It was making Shane crazy wondering.

Shane decided that when he went to check out the house, he would have to get Daryl alone and find out what the story was and if necessary, take steps to keep everything under control. He would do whatever was necessary to keep Rick from finding out about Otis and about Lori's baby. _His_ baby. Shane smiled at the thought and eventually, despite the rain seeping into his tent, he was able to fall asleep.

**I wrote the last chapter to this story today. It had been banging around in my head for the last four days, so at least we know there actually is an end in sight. Don't hold your breath, though, this has potential to be a long one! Love, love, love you all for reading this. Thanks!**


	16. Chapter16

Chapter 17

Daryl was up before the sun was. He had slept through the night without waking and without dreaming, which surprised him. He was sure that his ridiculous mind would have been cooking up 'intruder breaks into house and tortures and kills lone occupant' stories all night and that sleep would evade him. He chalked up his restful sleep to the knowledge that he had two loaded .44's and a huge knife within easy reach when he had fallen asleep. He scooted himself to the side of the bed and swung his legs around and hopped off the bed.

He yawned and stretched, reached under a pillow and grabbed one of the Rugers and brought it into the bathroom with him. The sky outside the big window adjacent to the sunken tub was rose gray in color as the sun had not yet made its appearance. He laid the Ruger on the top of the toilet tank, dropped his boxers and kicked them into the corner next to the toilet. The little man with the jackhammer who apparently lived in his head started it up and Daryl put his hand against his forehead. He reached down to flush and rolled his eyes. This wasn't the first time he'd ever pissed blood. It had happened a few times before, generally after a fight where he had taken a good blow or two to the kidneys. It was, though, the first time he'd ever pissed blood and blood _clots. _He flushed and moved to the shower.

He turned the water on in the shower and adjusted the temperature level. As he went to step under the spray, he was jolted by a sudden very sharp stabbing pain in his left side and he winced as he sucked in a strained breath. "Christ!" he groaned. He hadn't been prepared for that one.. "Fuckin' Shane" he mumbled under his breath. He stood completely still until the pain faded to a dull ache and then he stepped under the hot water, letting it wash over his bruised and achy body.

He took a quick shower, just long enough to soap himself up quickly and to wash and rinse his hair, carefully trying to avoid that damned gash in his head, and then he wrapped himself in a towel and walked back into the bedroom. He rubbed the towel briskly over his hair, bumping his head wound twice and cussing like the Dixon that he was; then across his back and his chest and worked his way down until he was finally drying his feet. He was out of fresh boxers so he debated whether to wear skivvies or go commando. He decided on skivvies and pulled a black pair out of the pile of clothes he'd brought in from the kitchen island counter. He put his legs through the leg holes and pulled them up, then wiggled his butt and danced around a bit, trying to adjust and loosen them. He wasn't used to this much "support" and he found the close fit to be most uncomfortable. 'This must be the male equivalent of what it feels like for a woman to wear a bra.'

He threw on a pair of jeans and a dark blue sleeveless shirt and opened the package of new socks he'd taken from the Harley's saddlebag. Once he was dressed, he grabbed the grooming kit, another prize that had belonged to the Harley's original owner, and returned to the bathroom. He brushed his teeth and combed his hair. The hair that framed his face curled into ringlets as it dried which completely mortified him. He opened the grooming kit and found a small pair of scissors. He trimmed his scruffy beard and mustache and for a moment considered shaving them right off.

"Hey Darleena, what's goin' on? You got a big date or somethin'? You gonna go play kissy face with yer friend Rick when he gets here? Is that why yer makin' yerself all purty?"

"Yeah," Daryl told imaginary Merle. " You totally won the kewpie doll. " Imaginary Merle didn't take kindly to sarcasm and shut his mouth. For now.

Daryl buckled the holster belt around his waist and holstered the Blackhawks. He attached his Bowie knife and his hunting knife to his belt and grabbed his crossbow and six bolts then headed for the kitchen. Coffee. He really really needed some coffee. There was a Keurig coffee maker on the shelf by the sink and a woven basket next to it filled with little sealed little containers of coffee. Daryl looked the Keurig all over and picked up one of the little coffee containers and put one and one together. He found the water reservoir and dumped the water out of it and used a paper towel to dry it out. God knew how long that water had sat in there. He filled the reservoir with fresh water and pushed the pot back next to the sink. Daryl popped a little sealed coffee ground container of 'Dark Magic' into the cup holder of the machine and pushed the top down. "Now let's see if I got this right." He mumbled. He hit the power button and the machine made a 'whooooooosh" sound and went to work. A minute and a half later, Daryl was carrying a hot cup of black coffee out onto the deck, his twin Blackhawks bumping his hips as he walked and his crossbow across his back.

The sun was peeking over the trees, chasing away the gray sky with its soft yellow-pink rays as it greeted the day. The panic Daryl had felt the night before had disappeared as he had slept and looking back now at how paranoid and apprehensive he had been made him feel like a fool.

Daryl laid his crossbow on the slate top table and took a long look across the lake to where he had seen a flash of light (where he THOUGHT he'd seen a flash of light) the night before. He was going to sit and drink his coffee, load a bolt into his crossbow and then take a walk around the lake to see what the hell was going on over there. If he found evidence that someone had been there, he was going to do his best to track the bastard to wherever he'd taken off to. This was his place, his safe haven and he would do whatever it took to defend it. As far as the Dixons were concerned, a good surprise offense was always more desirable than a forced defense.

Daryl took another sip of his coffee and sat back, closing his eyes. The birds were singing and a breeze was blowing off the lake, rippling the water with tiny waves. It was peaceful. Relaxing.

Daryl cleared his head and listened to what was going on around him. The birds singing. There was a yellow warbler. A pair of red winged blackbirds, tree sparrows, chipping sparrows and song sparrows and chickadees. A coven of bobwhite quail brought the lovely symphony of birdsongs crashing down in a cacophonous mess with their obnoxious shouts of "Bob WHITE Bob WHITE Bob WHITE!" So much for peaceful.

There were several scents in the air competing for his attention. The lake smelled wonderful of fresh water and rain. The coffee he now held to his lips smelled, well, like coffee, strong with a slightly smoky odor. The smell of the coffee and the smell of the lake were overpowered but only slightly, by the scent of Big Sexy Hair.

Daryl put his coffee cup down and reached up and felt his hair with both hands. Did it look big and sexy now? Was that a good thing if it did or not? He shook his head. Did he really care? No. Not at all.

Daryl finished his coffee and stood up from the table. He slung his crossbow over his shoulder, checked his pistols in their holsters and carried his coffee cup into the kitchen, setting it in the sink. He exited the kitchen door onto the back porch and locked the door, and then he jogged across the lawn to the chain-link fence and climbed up over it, silently dropping to the ground on the other side of it. He pulled his crossbow from off his back, set a bolt and holding the bow out in front of him, he stealthily slipped into the woods, planning to make his way quietly to the other side of the lake.

* * *

Shane had to admit, he was a little excited about this house they were going to check out. If it was as nice as Rick had said it was, it might just be the best place to settle into for the fall and winter…..if they could all live under one roof without killing each other.

Shane glanced in the rear view mirror at Andrea who was sitting in the back seat and looking out the window of the Hyundai as they drove toward the last roadblock before they had to walk and switch vehicles.

Why the hell had Rick arranged things so that he and Andrea had to come out to see with house together? Ever since the quickie incident after the adrenaline rush they' gotten from almost being killed by walkers before blowing a shit load of them away; things had been weird between him and Andrea. And what the hell for? They'd had sex that one time and then she acted like it had never happened and that he didn't even exist. What the hell? I mean, come on! He hadn't even been the instigator. After all, SHE had grabbed HIS crotch, not the other way around. He should have just told her 'no'; that he wasn't in the mood or that he had a headache or something. Right. Shane knew how things worked. A good crotch grab effectively shuts down all blood running to the brain and sends it rushing to another part of the body. The thinking duties are then automatically transferred from the brain to this other part and reason goes right out the window. And it had been a good crotch grab. A VERY good crotch grab

Rick was sitting in the passenger seat and Andrea rode in the back of the Hyundai. Rick had been pretty quiet, keeping his eyes looking out the window most of the time. Shane couldn't tell if he was trying to avoid him or if he was really looking for walkers. Shane wondered if Rick was having regrets about inviting Shane to come along this soon in the game. After all, Shane and Daryl's bruises hadn't even had time to fade and each was the cause of the black and blue marks on the other.

Shane was looking forward to talking to Daryl, but he was going to have to figure out a way to get Daryl alone and away from Rick and Andrea. That was going to be a tough one.

Rick, of course, would be leery of letting Shane anywhere near Daryl and Daryl, would he be up to facing Shane for a one on one talk, or would he throw up his hands and run screaming into the woods like a scared little girl? Shane smirked at the thought and bit his lip.

"Something funny?" Rick asked.

Shane hadn't noticed that Rick had been looking at him. "no, just wondering if this new place has a pool."

Rick smiled. "Who needs a pool when there's a whole lake?

Shane smiled. Obviously, Daryl hadn't said anything to Rick about the Otis or the Lori situation, because if he had, Rick would have landed all over it and called Shane out. Maybe Daryl had smartened up and had actually been intimidated by Shane's threat. If that was the case, that would be great, but Daryl would always be a loose cannon. Maybe he was keeping his mouth shut right now, but what about tomorrow? Or the next day? As long as Daryl Dixon lived and breathed, he would be a threat to him….unless Shane could work something out with Daryl. Shane thought about this and looked at everything from all angles. Shane decided that in the end, he had three options to choose from.

1. Get some dirt on Daryl or something to hold over his head to keep him in check. 'I won't tell if you won't.'

2. Make a deal with Daryl, trade goods and services for his silence, in other words, bribe him. 'You need a new crossbow, buddy?

3. Kill the stupid bastard. ' Die, you fuckin' redneck.'

Shane was really beginning to lean toward number 3, because it was the only sure fire bet to keep Dixon from running his mouth. The big problem now was that everyone knew that he and Daryl had fought and that they were not on good terms. If Daryl met his end in a way that was even remotely suspicious, everyone would be looking in Shane's direction.

They reached the final roadblock and got out of the Hyundai. Andrea tucked her revolver into the front of her jeans and Shane shouldered his Mossberg. Rick held his Python up in front of him and scanned the still and quiet traffic jam for walkers.

They slowly made their way through the scattered logs and disabled vehicles until they reached the end of the group of disabled vehicles and Rick pointed out the Ford F150 that he and T-Dog had commandeered the day before.

Rick jogged up to the vehicle. He opened the passenger door as Andrea and Shane arrived at the vehicle and stepped back, holding the door open for them.

"Thank you," Andrea said as she passed in front of him and slid into the middle of the bench seat.

"Thanks, bro." Shane jumped in after her and slammed the truck's door.

Shane noticed that the glove compartment door was partially opened so he reached for it and opened it the rest of the way.

"Hey! " he said, bright smile lighting up his face, "Oreos!"

Rick looked over at him as he started the truck and then looked at the package of cookies as Shane shook it at him and waggled his eyebrows.

Rick rolled his eyes. "That darned T-Dog! He stole Daryl's Oreos? "

Shane was handing two of cookies to Andrea, and looked back at Rick, "They're a little stale, "Shane garbled around a mouth full of cookie, "but still pretty good." He swallowed, "now I just need a glass of milk."

Andrea had twisted her first cookie apart and was eating the center first. She looked at Shane with a disapproving look on her face. "You can't just shove Oreos in your mouth like that. You need to twist them open and eat the filling first."

"No way," Shane answered shoving another cookie in his mouth.

"Yes, way," said Andrea. "It's an official cookie law, and I should know."

Rick reached over Andrea and grabbed the bag of cookies from Shane. "That's enough cookies for now. You guys are making a mess in the truck."

"Sorry, Dad." Andrea grumped.

They turned onto the dirt road and Rick told them it would be a bit more than 10 more miles.

"And if either of you start in with the 'are we there yet, 'I'm going to pull over and you can get out and walk."

Andrea looked at Shane at the same time that Shane shot her a look and they both smiled at each other.

'Well,' Shane thought, 'Maybe I dismissed my chances at another hookup with good ol' Andrea too soon.'

He watched out the window as the trees went by. Soon they would be at the house and he would get the Daryl situation taken care of, too. Shane smiled to himself. It looked like things were going to be going his way today.


	17. Chapter 17

Daryl had made his way to the other side of the lake. It had taken him a good hour as he had stalked through the trees slowly and stealthily, stopping every few minutes to survey his surroundings and to commit them to memory.

After getting lost in the woods for nine days at the age of eight years old, Daryl had learned two valuable and very simple lessons.

Lesson 1. No one is going to rescue you so your fate is in your hands and

Lesson 2. Don't get lost.

If you learned lesson 2, you didn't have to worry about lesson 1.

Daryl devised a system that worked for him to keep him from getting lost. It involved first noting the position of the sun in the sky and determining which direction was North and which was south. As he entered a wooded area from any known point, he would take mental "pictures" of certain features of the landscape. A large rock jutting out of the ground here, a double forked tree there, a deer trail over there and so on. He would stand still a study the area, committing it to memory, then move on about twenty feet, turn around and memorize the spot from the opposite side. This ability to commit this information to memory and to be able to draw on it when necessary was truly a gift.

Merle had always been amazed by Daryl's ability to go into a forest he had never seen or been to in his life before, hunt, and come back out hours later right where he had gone in. It had given Merle the creeps as they had fled together towards Atlanta after their small hometown had been overrun by walkers. They would stop in the afternoon and make camp in some godforsaken place they had never been and Daryl would grab his bow and head into the woods, and emerge later with whatever game he happened to bring down.

"How the fuck do ya do that?" Merle had asked him one evening a couple of days before they met up with Shane and his group of survivors.

"I got a map." Daryl had answered as he skinned the rabbit they were going to have for dinner.

Merle had snorted. "Oh yeah? Where?"

Daryl had looked up from the rabbit, paused, pointed to his head and said, "Right here."

As long as Daryl was able to take the time and catalog various landmarks around him, he didn't have to worry about getting lost.

He had processed a lot of information on his excursion to the other side of the lake. There were three deer trails that ran down to the lake, and one large and well-traveled trail, a damned deer highway, Daryl thought, that ran parallel to the lake and through the three trails. There was a brook that came down out of the hills and emptied into the lake, and as Daryl crossed it, he noticed several nice sized brook trout in the water as they quickly zig-zagged away from the partially submerged fallen log he was using as a bridge.

The woods was made up of softwoods, shortleaf and loblolly pine and a few river birches thrown in from the lakeshore to about 100 feet into the forest. The deciduous trees, or hardwoods, took over from there, beech trees and ash, poplar, white and Southern red oaks and a few red maples made up the forest as it climbed the hillsides around the lake.

Daryl had been impressed. Many of the oaks were laden with acorns and deer, wild turkeys and of course, squirrels would certainly be foraging in the area, seeking them out. Daryl followed along the deer "highway" as it circled the lake, staying about 50 feet to the right of it.

He spotted movement between the trees along the trail and he froze, crossbow raised and ready to fire. He watched the spot where he had seen movement. It was about 100 feet away and it was just a flicker of reddish brown between the trees. He saw it again and waited. For 10 minutes he stood motionless, watching. The buck was browsing. It wove its way lazily through the trees, stopping to eat a couple of acorns then moving another 5 or 10 feet forward, stopping again to rub his antlers against a 1" diameter overhanging tree branch, peeling the bark and leaving a smooth, polished rectangular patch on the underside. Daryl watched as the buck got closer. It hadn't seen him yet or caught his scent and a squirrel in the tree above the buck started chattering and scolding the deer as it walked beneath it.

The right side of Daryl's mouth quirked up in a half smile-smirk. Little stinkers.

Daryl was still stone still when the deer reached the part of the deer trail that passed directly by where Daryl stood 50 feet to the right of the path. The only thing Daryl moved was his eyes, to watch the deer. When the buck had gone another 20 feet down the path, nose to the ground, picking at acorns and foliage it suddenly caught the hunter's scent. Its head shot up and its big ears moved and twitched back and forth, trying to pick up any unusual sounds. It looked over its shoulder and all around and pawed the ground. It knew it smelled something that was unfamiliar, something dangerous, but where was it? It lifted its nose and tried to pinpoint the source of the scent.

Daryl whistled between his teeth and the deer startled and turned his head, looking in his direction. Daryl stamped his foot and the buck flipped its tail up straight, showing the white furry underside and bounded off down the trail as fast as it could go. Daryl smiled. He wasn't hunting right now; the purpose for his walk through the woods was to mentally map the area and to gather what information he could on a potential threat. A potential threat that may or may not have been walking around in the rain with a flashlight the night before.

Daryl finally reached what he felt was the approximate place he had seen the glimpse of light through the storm. He searched the ground and the surroundings, looking for anything that would put him on the trail of whoever had been lurking around there in the rain. He was frustrated. The rain and the wind had really done a job of moving things around and washing things away and Daryl thought his search would be in vain. There was no trail.

Then the pain hit him like a freight train. It was excruciating and he actually cried out and dropped his crossbow as he clutched at his left side with both hands. He sank to his knees and leaned back against an old oak tree, eyes closed and panting as the pain rolled through. Something was very, very wrong. His stomach was in knots now and he could feel nausea building up. 'Great', he thought,' here comes the puke train express.' He twisted sideways and hugged the oak tree, pressing his head against the side of it and trying to shake off the pain. The puke train express arrived and Daryl leaned over and vomited. A vile mixture of coffee, stomach acids and blood hit the forest floor and Daryl shuddered and broke into a sweat. He pulled a red rag from his back pocket and wiped his mouth, then, digging his fingers into the rough bark of the old oak tree, he pulled himself up.

Daryl stood, leaning against the oak tree with his eyes closed. His stomach rolled again, but he was able to keep himself from vomiting again. Sweat rolled down his forehead and into his eyes and down his shirt from his neck. What the hell was wrong with him?

He heard a rustle of foliage behind him and then a low bubbly growl. A walker? Now? He exhaled deeply and muttered, "You've got to be kidding," as he quickly peeked behind him, checking for Merle, and then bent down and picked up his crossbow. He had missed throwing up on it by less than two inches. The walker was suddenly rounding the tree four feet behind him and he aimed and pulled the crossbow's trigger as he turned to meet it. The bolt found its mark and Daryl pulled the bowstring back and laid another bolt on the rail as another walker shambled around the same tree, almost tripping over its fellow flesh eater. Daryl shot this one, too, and again pulled the bowstring. It took all of his strength this time to pull the sting back until he heard the familiar 'click' letting him know the string was locked in and the bow was ready for the bolt. No other walkers came around the tree to greet him (or eat him). The pain in his left side gave him one more good hard kick and then started to recede. It reminded Daryl of the tides at the ocean, always coming in or going out. This tide of pain seemed to be on its way out now and Daryl was grateful.

He took a deep breath and got his head together, then folded his red rag and patted at the sweat on his face and neck. He approached the walkers he had dispatched and leaned over to pull the bolts from them. His eyes grew wide.

Fresh red blood painted their mouths and their hands. It was splashed down their chests. He wanted badly to be able to dismiss the blood as being that of an unfortunate deer or other woodland creature that the disgusting geeks had been lucky enough to get their grubby hands on. Unfortunately, the evidence suggested otherwise. As Daryl pulled the bolt from the forehead of the second walker he'd shot, he noticed a gap where two teeth were missing in its mouth. There was a human finger stuck in the gap. A relatively fresh looking human finger.

He fished the finger out of the walker's mouth. It was a man's middle finger and it was still partially attached to half of an index finger. Today's stupid joke, he thought, why was the walker mad? Because someone gave it the finger. Hahaahaha, boooo. Had to be from the head injury. Just had to be.

Daryl sighed and took a deep breath, then headed through the woods in the direction the walkers had come from.

He had gone about 150 sneaky, quiet feet when he heard them and their stench filled his nostrils at about the same time. They were groaning and mumbling and slurping and chewing. Feeding. He slid behind a tree that was closer to where they were kneeling down and devouring their meal. Daryl peeked out from behind the tree. There were three of them, the eaters. All men, all in tattered remnants of camouflage fatigues. They were eating one of their own by the looks of it.

The eatee was also dressed in camouflage, and had not reanimated. His flesh had been torn from both his legs and the tattered pants were pulled away from femurs, tibia and fibulas that hung with pieces of cartilage and tendon strips. The most grotesque thing, in Daryl's opinion, was the fact that the corpse was still wearing olive green socks and black army boots, and that it appeared that its ankles and feet were still totally intact, inside the boots, and that from the top of the boot up, the flesh on the legs had been devoured.

The chest cavity had been torn open like the eaters had decided to perform a half assed autopsy and several organs were strewn about nearby. Daryl grimaced. Apparently walkers found liver as distasteful in their reanimated stage as he imaged several walkers had in life before they became part of the horde of the undead.

Daryl took down the walkers and it was a relatively easy task. The stupid things didn't even look up from feeding as their dinner companions fell to his crossbow and he pushed them off the unfortunate fellow who had been their dinner as the pulled his bolts from their bodies.

Daryl looked over the walker's victim. His face was gone and much of him had been devoured, but he looked to be a relatively fresh kill. His blood was not yet thick or sticky and his chest and abdominal cavities still held bright reddish-maroon colored blood. Daryl raised an eyebrow as he noticed something greenish and cylindrical peeking out from under the victim's shoulder. He pushed the dead man's shoulder aside with his foot. It was a flashlight. He picked it up and looked it over. It was still on, but the light was dim, like the batteries in it were almost dead.

Daryl studied the area around the site of the massacre and then he saw it. "Shit", he mumbled as he walked over to a tree about five feet from the bloody mess. He reached down and picked up a Russian AKS-74U short barreled automatic. He'd seen plenty of AK47s, but he'd never seen one of these Russian babies in person. It held a 60 round clip. He suddenly felt a chill run through him. If this guy had been watching the house and if this was the firepower he was packing, what had his plan been? Was he alone or were there others with him?

Daryl took a few minutes to check the pockets of the jackets of some of the camouflage dressed walkers and the man they'd feasted on, but came up empty.

He shouldered his crossbow and tucked the AK74U under his arm and turned back the way he'd come from.

* * *

Shane smiled. He, Rick and Andrea were sitting at the patio table on the deck in front of the house. Andrea was going on about how lovely the lake was and how she had seen a couple of very large bass hanging around near the end of the dock when she'd taken a peek off it earlier. She went on about how clear and clean the lake was and how she couldn't wait to try her luck at fishing in it, as she brought the spoon of ice cream up to her mouth.

Shane had finished his ice cream five minutes ago. It was a nice treat and he had enjoyed the hell out of it. He thought the house had a lot of potential and with some work, could be made very safe and secure. The fence needed to be checked over and maybe reinforced; barbed wire added to the top would be a nice touch and would be more of a deterrent to other humans than to walkers. The solar battery bank and the collectors were in excellent shape and would last a long time. There was a lot of food put up in the cellar and more toilet paper than he had ever seen in his life stored down there.

He was extremely curious about the room on the third floor, and tried to convince Rick that they should try to force it open or even shoot the locks off of in and see what the hell was inside there, but Rick felt that it was Daryl's call. After all, Daryl had found this house. 'And taken the best room in the whole fucking place', thought Shane.

When Rick had given Shane and Andrea the grand tour, Shane had suggested to Rick that the master bedroom suite on the first floor should belong to Rick and Lori. After all, Rick was their leader and Lori was pregnant and it would tire her out in the later stages of her pregnancy to go up and down those stairs to get to a bedroom.

Rick had gently reminded Shane that they were all damned lucky that Daryl had even suggested that they might want to join him in this house, so that Daryl got whatever room Daryl wanted and he wanted that one.

Shane had thrown up his hands and said, "Okay, okay, but I think the welfare of your wife would be more important than the desires of a stupid hick."

Andrea had stuck up for the stupid hick then, saying he was a nice guy and not at all stupid and Shane had decided that it wasn't wise to be talking trash about Daryl when it appeared he was in the middle of a meeting of the Daryl Dixon Fan Club, so he had dropped the subject.

Andrea finished her ice cream and her coffee and she and Rick cleared the empty containers off the patio table and went inside to put them in the kitchen. When they came back out, Andrea asked if she could take the canoe out, just for a few minutes, just to have a look around the lake.

Rick thought that that sounded like a good idea and suggested that he and Shane go with her.

Shane said he'd sit this one out and Rick and Andrea giggled as they pulled the upside down canoe away from the dock and put it upright into the water.

After a brief search, the canoe paddles were found and then Rick and Andrea were pushing off from the shore to explore the lake and Shane was waving goodbye to them as they left.

Water carries sound, so Shane could hear pretty much everything Rick and Andrea said. He rolled his eyes as their voiced drifted back toward where he sat at the patio table.

"Don't lean so far to the left, you'll tip us over."

"What? I won't tip us over, but you have to paddle on both sides or we're going to go in circles."

"No, no, no. I'm supposed to paddle on _this_ side and you're supposed to paddle on that side, we don't keep switching."

"Stop paddling on my side, that's why we keep getting turned around! Have you ever even been in a canoe before?"

"I'm tired of paddling on this side, let's switch."

"_No_, are you _crazy_? You can't stand up in here!"

Shane was glad he had decided to sit out the canoe adventure.

Shane got up and went inside into the great room and then through the dining room into the kitchen. He was filling a glass full of water in the sink when the kitchen door opened and Daryl walked in.

Daryl froze.

Shane smiled a big smile. "Hey Daryl. Nice place you have here."

Daryl swallowed. The last time Shane had said he had a nice set up he'd ended up unconscious about a half hour later. "Shane." he said to acknowledge the man's presence and then he turned to head for his room.

"Whoa, whoa, hold up Daryl. I want to talk to you and, holy shit, what the fuck is that? Where did you get that?" Shane's eyes were wide as he eyed the AK74U.

"Oh, this? Just found it layin' around." Daryl continued to walk toward his room.

"Wait, wait, Daryl, I think we need to talk."

"I think we've pretty much said all we need to say to each other." Daryl replied.

"C'mon man, just a minute of your time is all I'm asking."

"Fine. Where's Rick?" Daryl asked as he put the AK74U on the kitchen island and then carefully slid the crossbow from his back and put it down beside it.

"Rick and Andrea went out in the canoe."

"Andrea's here, too?" Daryl asked.

"Yeah."

"Anyone else?" Daryl asked as he opened the refrigerator door.

"Nope. Just me, Rick and Andrea."

Daryl rummaged around in the bottom of the refrigerator and grabbed two bottles of Coors. A quick glance told him he had four left after these two were gone. He straightened up and looked over at Shane, holding one out to him and raising his eyebrows

Shane took it from him. "Thanks man."

Daryl picked up the AK74 and holding his beer in the other hand, he headed toward the dining room and the front door, motioning to Shane to follow him.

Andrea and Rick were almost in the middle of the lake, laughing and shouting at each other as the canoe appeared to go in circles.

Daryl sat down in a cushioned chair at the patio table and Shane seated himself across from him.

They both cracked the caps off their beers at the same time and Daryl drank long and deep from his. Shane followed suit.

"First of all, Shane," Daryl said, "I want to apologize for nailing you in the baby makers. Was a damned dirty move an' I'm none too proud of it."

Shane smirked. "I wouldn't have expected any less from you."

Daryl grinned and Shane thought he looked like the cat that ate the canary. "An' I wouldn't expect anythin' less than an illegal choke hold from you," he countered.

"Touché." Shane conceded, and then added. "I saw your Harley out there. That's a pretty cool bike. Great color, big motor, looks brand new. Where'd you steal that from?"

"Dealership across the street from where you stole that pea green piece a shit you drive now," Daryl answered. "Now let's stop fuckin' beatin' aroun' the bush here. You probably figured it out that I ain't said nothin' to Rick about Otis or Lori. I got to thinkin' and I can see why you did what you did where the business with Otis is concerned. Ain't sayin' I agree with it, but I ain't sayin' that I wouldn't a done the same thing in your position. It ain't my place to tell Rick. If he's too fuckin' blind to see what's right in front a his face, well, that ain't my problem."

Shane had to physically keep his mouth from falling open.

"Now the Lori business. I'm keepin' out a' that, _but_, if you come to stay in this here house, an' you two start makin' doe eyes at each other an' messin' 'round, I _will_ call bullshit on you both. Rick is a good man and he's supposed to be your best friend. Fuckin' treat him like it."

Shane smiled a cold smile and asked. "Daryl Dixon, are you threatening me?"

Daryl sat back and took another swallow of beer. "Not at all. I'm jest tellin' you how it is. An' Shane? You won't ever catch me unprepared like you did a couple nights ago, and if you come after me like that again, I will fuckin' kill you. Now if you'll excuse me, I got a lotta shit ta do."

Daryl tilted his bottle of beer up, finishing it, grabbed the gun in one hand, stood up and headed inside to the kitchen.

Shane sat where he was at the patio table and watched Daryl go. A smile played about his lips, but he didn't say a word. Oh, Dixon was going to get what he had coming to him. You could count on that.


	18. Chapter 18

**AUGH! I apologize for this very short chapter. I'm having problems with my computer and it crashed about a half dozen times today and I lost most of this chapter. Rather than fighting the losing battle of trying to rewrite and finish the chapter (over and over) I just found what I thought would be an okay stopping point and decided to post what I have to that point. Sorry, and hopefully all the technical difficulties will be resolved soon. Thanks for your patience and for reading my silly story!**

Chapter 19

Daryl closed the door to his bedroom behind him and laid the AK74U on the dresser. He removed the holster belt and laid it next to the assault rifle. Why the hell was Shane there? Was Rick fuckin' crazy?

Daryl felt his left side start to tighten up and he sat in the chair by the closet and the bed and braced himself for another onslaught of deep, intense pain. It showed up just as he had expected about 20 seconds later. The pain hit hard and he was unable to rein in the gasp that escaped him. It started to intensify. He caught his breath and gripped the arms of the chair tightly. He was going to take it like a man and ride this thing out. He took short shallow breaths and after a moment, the pain started to recede again. Yeah, something was fuckin' wrong for sure. He caught his breath and it suddenly dawned on him.

Of course. The pain, the nausea, pissing and puking blood. The heavy feeling in his left abdomen. He was bleeding internally.

Yes, that had to be it. It must have started when Shane had lammed the hell out of him right in that spot beneath his left ribs. The spot the arrow had pierced and that Hershel had repaired.

Daryl lifted his shirt and looked at the new scar. The large bruise covering it was purple-black and was turning to a brownish-yellow around the edges but he now noticed that the area was also visibly swollen. He pushed down on the puffy spot and winced, "_Fuck!_" that had hurt. Well, that was stupid, Dixon.

He assessed the situation. How did you treat internal bleeding? He was pretty sure that surgery was the only option. That wasn't going to be happening. Maybe whatever was damaged inside of him would heal on its own and the bleeding would stop. "Yeah," he mumbled to himself, "and maybe I'll sprout wings outta my back and fly around the fuckin' room. 'bout as likely."

Daryl leaned back in the chair and ran a hand through his hair. He laughed bitterly. So this was how he was going out. Not by being bitten by a walker, not by being swarmed by a large group of them. He was going to slowly and quietly bleed to death, courtesy of Shane Walsh.

Hadn't he, just moments ago, told Shane if he tried to fuck with him again, he'd kill the bastard? Apparently, Shane had already taken steps to make sure he killed Daryl first. Oh, the irony.

Daryl closed his eyes. He had a lot left to do today, and he couldn't let this unfortunate revelation distract him. He'd rest for just a few moments, then go and check out the garage. He couldn't spend too much time doing nothing, he told himself, especially since he wasn't sure just how much time he had left.

He must have fallen asleep, because knocking on the door of his room startled him awake.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, Dare," it was Rick, "can I come in? Are you decent?"

Am I decent? Daryl smirked. What did Rick think, that he lounged around naked all the time?

"He'd be half right" snarked Imaginary Merle.

So what? Hey, Georgia was fuckin' HOT in the summer. If he was alone and no one was around who cared?

"Yeah…c'mon in."

Rick slipped into the room and closed the door behind him.

As Rick entered the room, Daryl got up and moved over to the bed and sat at the foot of it. He motioned Rick to sit in the chair he had vacated.

Rick sat down in the chair and leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Hey Dare. This is a really, really nice place you have here. Are you sure you want us all moving in and taking over your space and…"

Daryl cut him off. "Ain't my place. I told you that. Too big and too nice a place for the likes of me. S'for the group." He motioned his arm at the room around him. "Hell, this room is too damned nice for me. Was thinkin' maybe you an' Lori should have it."

Rick looked mortified. "Are you kidding? Daryl, this is your house. You found it; you didn't even have to let us know about it."

"I said it ain't my place. Seems to be a good match though for the rest of ya'll."

Rick stared at the man sitting in front of him on the end of the obscenely large bed. Daryl was chewing his right thumbnail and looking at the floor. Rick was sure he could see pain in those bloodshot blue eyes.

Daryl sighed. "Look, Rick, I left the group 'cause I don't belong there. That an' I fucked up. I fucked up big time with findin' Sophia an' makin' all them big bold promises 'bout her bein' okay. Carol fuckin' hates me and I don't rightly blame her. I ain't a part of the group and I never was. I'm best on my own. I'll more 'n likely stay through the winter but then I'm gone."

'Don't worry Rick,' Daryl thought, 'if I'm right about what I think is goin' on, you'll probably have less than a week to have to put up with me.'

"Don't be saying stuff like that, Dare. We need you. You're a very important part of this group. You're more than that, you're indispensible. I don't think we can get by without you. "

"Bullshitometer just went into the red, Grimes. Get your tall boots and shovel ready."

"I'm serious," Rick countered. "and speaking of serious," he added.

"I know you're not going to like this, but…"

"Man," Daryl groaned, "you know how much I fuckin' hate it when someone prefaces what they're gonna say to me with that line?" He put his head in his hands and sighed. "Go ahead" he said through his hands "…tell me what I ain't gonna like."

"Hershel is concerned about you. He knows about your concussion and he'd also like to see how well your stitches have healed. He really wants to see you."

"You told him about me hittin' my head? Well if that ain't embarrassin' as all hell. "

Rick smiled. "I didn't tell him what happened, just that you took a good hit to your head. He is insisting on seeing you. I thought I'd bring him tomorrow. That okay with you?"

"Does it matter if it is or isn't?"

Rick smiled an even bigger smile. "No."

"I thought as much." Daryl ran his hand across the stubbly beard on his chin. "I gotta talk to you about somethin' too. "

Daryl studied Rick's face. He looked tired but relaxed, much less stressed out than Daryl remembered seeing him a couple of weeks ago back at the Greene farm.

"Had a helluva storm here last night. I'm sure you got a piece of it, too. I was on the deck when it started. Thought I saw a light across the lake at the tree line. Wasn't' sure, so I went this mornin' to check things out over where I thought I'd seen it." Daryl licked his lips and continued. "Took out five walkers and they was dinin' on a fella with a flashlight. Looked like a relatively fresh kill. Guy was wearin' camoflauge. The geeks were all wear'in camoflauge, too. I don't know what that means, but you might wanna hold off on bringin' everybody here until I know what it's all about. " Daryl motioned towards the assault rifle on the dresser. "He was carryin' this."

Rick stood up and went to examine the gun. "Russian AK74U." he said as he picked up the piece and rubbed his hand along the smooth wooden stock.

"Yeah, she's a purty little thing." Daryl said as he continued to chew his thumbnail.

Rick turned to look at Daryl and Daryl stopped in mid-chew raised his eyebrows at him. "What?"

"Tomorrow," Rick said, "I think we should all go check out the place where you found this across the lake. Me, you, T-Dog, Shane and Glen. "

Daryl nodded. "How the hell are you plannin' on gettin' them all here?"

Rick smiled. "You let me worry about that."

"With pleasure." Daryl agreed.

Rick stood up to leave and reached over and clasped Daryl's shoulder. Daryl instinctively pulled away, but Rick didn't' let go.

"Thank you for everything, Dare. Thank you so much." He squeezed Daryl's shoulder then turned and left the room.

Daryl was a bit perplexed. Thank you for what? He sighed and stood up, he had to go check out that the garage. Maybe he'd find some tools in it that would help him break into the locked room on the third floor.

Hershel was coming tomorrow. He would speak to the old man then. He would swear him to secrecy first, it was no one's business if he didn't have a lot of time left but then he would ask him about it. At least he could get some clarification from someone with a medical background, even if Hershel was just an animal doc.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow and headed to the garage.


	19. Chapter 19

Daryl came into the kitchen from the dining room and promptly ran smack into Andrea. They both jumped back at the same time and Andrea smiled, her blue green eyes meeting his pale blue ones.

Daryl looked at the floor and mumbled, "Sorry," and started to walk around her.

Her hand darted out and she grabbed his right arm. "Just a minute, Daryl."

He instinctively pulled away from her while yanking his arm out of her grip. "Make it fast," he grumbled, "I'm really busy."

"Oh…..can I help you with anything?" Andrea offered.

"Nah, now whadda you want?"

Andrea looked him right in the eyes and then, wait, what was that? Did she just give him the once over? Her eyes had moved from his slowly down his body to his feet and then back up meeting his eyes again. She was smiling and she approached him until she stood right in front of him, their bodies almost touching. He stepped back a step and she took another step forward. He swallowed, wanting to bolt for the door but refusing to give in to that instinct. Daryl Dixon wasn't afraid of any damned woman, but why did he suddenly feel like he had gone from being a hunter to being prey?

She reached a hand up towards his face, slowly, as if she was reaching out to pet a frightened animal and placed it on his cheek.

He flinched, but didn't move away from her touch.

"Your eyes." She said as she stroked his cheek and then pushed a piece of hair out of his face, "The whites of your eyes are red. "

He looked down at his feet, "got in a fight," he mumbled.

She pulled her hand away and took a step backward, still smiling. "You're okay now?" She asked, taking another step back, surprised at herself for boldly invading his personal space like she had and damn, she'd _touched his face_ and he hadn't shot or stabbed her. Wonders never ceased.

"'I'm fine." He said, turning and heading for the door. This was just too weird and he couldn't process it just then.

"Hey, Dixon," Andrea called after him. "you clean up real nice."

Daryl grabbed the key marked ' garage' off the key shaped key holder on the wall near the door, banging it hard and almost knocking it off in his haste. He wasn't going to dignify her comment with a response and he exited the house and slammed the door behind him. He made a mental note to make sure he was never alone in a room or anywhere, for that matter, with Andrea again. She made him all kinds of uncomfortable and she'd fucking touched him, touched his FACE and what had he done? Had he pulled away from her, told her to keep her damned hands off him? Noooooo…He'd gotten all stupid and shy and what had he said about getting into a fight? Everyone knew he'd gotten into a fight with Shane.

"Ol' Sugar Tits likes ya," Imaginary Merle said. "You really should give it Tao her baby brother. You gotta be getting' tired of datin' ol' Rosey Palmer an' her five sisters all a time."

"You best be shuttin' up." Daryl growled.

"Hey, wait," Imaginary Merle appeared to be surprised. "You ain't my baby brother! Hey, asshole, where's my baby brother at, cuz you ain't him. Whadja do with 'im? "

I'm just all kinds of crazy, thought Daryl. "Fuck you, Merle," he muttered under his breath as he approached the garage, adjusting the crossbow on his back.

The garage had two overhead doors in the front and the windows in the doors had been blacked out, as had the window in the side entry door.

"Nah, you ain't no Dixon. A Dixon wouldn't roll over an' play dead over a bit a' bleedin'. Now where's my baby brother at? You ain't Daryl, Daryl'd fight like a wildcat tp fix hisself. He'd fight to keep on livin'. Killed two walkers, climbed a ravine twice all after he'd been shot in a side with an arrow.. that's my baby brother. He's a tough bastard, not like you, you wimpy pussy."

Daryl sighed. "Ain't no fix to this one, bro."

A thought crossed Daryl's mind just then and it made him smile. He wondered if Merle, wherever he was, was tormented and harassed at times by an Imaginary Daryl.

"Yeah," answered Imaginary Merle, "he sure as hell is. 'S makin' him crazy."

Daryl unlocked the side entrance to the garage and stepped inside.

Daryl hit the light switch to his left and two rows of florescent lights blinked on above him. The garage was quite large and it held two vehicles, both M1114 HMMWVs (Humvees). Daryl raised his eyebrows. Holy shit. These were some heavy duty military vehicles. He approached them and could tell immediately that these were not models that were available to the general public. The HMMWVs were both fit with a low profile weapons mount on the roof, rear gun mounts, side door gun mounts and several ammo can holders. He felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. Who the hell would have these in their garage? Who had lived in this house? The keys were sitting on the front seat in each vehicle along with a garage door opener remote. Someone had these vehicles ready in case they had to leave in a hurry.

A dull ache started to blossom in Daryl's head and he sighed. It figured. His lack of headaches so far that day had seemed to be too good to be true. He'd wait and see if it got worse before he medicated it.

The garage had shelves running down both sides of it and pegboards against the walls above the shelves, holding a variety of tools. The tools down the right side of the garage were automotive and electrical in nature. There was a gap between two sections of the shelf that was taken up by two huge Craftsman tool cabinets.

Daryl walked over to one of them and pulled one of the drawers open. There were sockets sets of every size in that particular drawer. He opened another one that was full of screwdrivers of every size and shape. A huge air compressor sat in the corner at the front of the garage. Next to it was a bench with a tire changing ring and an air gun resting on it. Various bundles of electrical wire and cable were hanging from hooks on the pegboard and Daryl recognized some fiber optic cable mixed in there as well.

This place was better equipped than most auto mechanics and electrician's shops.

He walked down the left side of the garage. The tools on the walls and shelves were mainly woodworking tools, along with some stuff that looked like it was for computers. Circuit boards littered the top of one section of the shelf and a solder gun sat near a particularly large board and two little remote security type cameras, still in their boxes.

Daryl made his way down to the end of the garage where two closed doors with no windows stood. His heart beat a bit faster as he approached the first one and as if in response, the pain in his head ratcheted things up a notch. He closed his eyes tightly, knotting his eyebrows as he frowned. He brought up his hands and rubbed circles on each side of his forehead above his eyebrows with the tips of his fingers.

His headache started to fade a bit and he sighed. It was his own stupid fault that he was having these fucking headaches. If he wasn't such a klutz he never would have hit his stupid head to begin with.

Daryl slid his crossbow off his shoulder and set a bolt on the rail as he approached the first door. He slid up next to the door and wrapped left hand around the doorknob as he placed his right ear against the door to see if he could hear anything. When he didn't, he readied his crossbow and turned the knob, pushing the door open and stepping to the side as quickly as he could. Nothing horrible jumped out to try to grab him and he peeked inside the doorway. It was a very large bathroom, about 14 feet square, and there were two standing 275 gallon tanks against the back wall and one on a side wall near the toilet. They looked like the tanks used by houses to hold heating oil. There was a caged in vent on the wall near the ceiling.

Daryl slowly approached the first storage tank. He pointed crossbow toward the ground and reached over to screw the big metal cap off the feed pipe of the tank. He brought the cap under his nose and caught the scent of diesel fuel. The Humvees ran on diesel. He checked the other tanks, they also held diesel fuel. He did the math, 825 gallons of diesel fuel in reserve. Not bad. Behind the bathroom door was a set of shelves, each holding rolls and rolls of toilet paper.

Daryl raised his eyebrows. What the hell was it with these people and toilet paper? The memory of the intense itching he had felt after wiping his ass for days on poison oak surfaced in his mind. Okay, he got it. Toilet paper was a very good thing to have stocked up on. If they other came upon other groups in say, a year or two, it would probably be a very valuable trade commodity.

"I'll trade you a roll of toilet paper for that dairy cow."

"Are you serious? That isn't a fair trade! Here, I'll throw in some magic beans with the cow.."

Why oh why did the brain farts have to show up when he needed to be serious and focused?

He backed out of the bathroom and moved along the rear wall to the other door. Again, he placed his ear against it, listening for any noises coming from the unknown room. He heard nothing, so he turned the knob and pushed the door open with his shoulder, poking his crossbow into the room in front of him as he entered.

This room was bigger than the other one and the contents proved to be much more interesting. Well, to Daryl they did. There was another bank of solar batteries and it appeared to be connected to its own fuse box and cables, and a small gas powered Honda generator. There were spare batteries lined up two deep on rows of industrial shelving, but what interested Daryl was the four rows, five across in each row, of what looked like chest freezers.

He smiled. Holy shit, had he just hit the Ben and Jerry's mother lode, or was he right in one of his earlier assumptions and the original homeowner had stashed the bodies of the dozens of people he'd killed in his run as a notorious serial killer in these freezers?

Daryl walked cautiously to the leftmost one in the first row. He readied his crossbow and quickly lifted the lid. Waves of cold air rose up and hit his face. The freezer was full of meat. It appeared that the owner of the freezer had purchased a side of beef because the cuts were wrapped in butcher paper and labeled. Sirloin, rump roast, hamburger, top round, and so on. He dug down into the freezer; the whole thing was full of packaged beef.

He opened the next one. Pork chops, ham, sausage pork roasts and lots and lots of his very, very favorite pork product. Bacon. Look at all that bacon, Lord; there was probably a good fifty pounds of bacon in there. He tried to remember the last time he'd had bacon and realized it had been before the dead had started rising. He pulled a package out of the freezer and tossed it on top of the beef freezer. He knew what he was having for lunch.

Each freezer was filled with something different. There was one filled with frozen vegetables, one dedicated solely to frozen berries, another to seafood. There was some interesting stuff in the seafood freezer. Shrimp, scallops, haddock, crab legs. Calamari? Daryl made a face. Ewww… who the hell in their right mind would eat squid? One of the freezers was full of cubed ice. That seemed like a waste of space to Daryl.

The last freezer in the right hand corner held what he was sure was at least a hundred pints of Ben and Jerry's ice cream. There were various flavors in the freezer, but it was easy to see that the majority of the pints were cookie dough. 'Ah, yes', thought Daryl, 'the ice cream gods are smiling down upon me today. '

Daryl smiled. This was a great discovery. There was a lot of food here for the group. He probably wouldn't really have to go hunting for a long time.

Daryl turned and headed for the door when he was blindsided by a dizzy spell. He closed his eyes and leaned on a freezer, steadying himself with both hands. Dizziness. Lightheadedness. Another symptom of internal bleeding.

Daryl wasn't stupid and his love and respect for nature had fostered an interest in the biological sciences when he was younger. His high school biology teacher had found him to be extremely intelligent and he had consistently scored A's in Biology and then later in Advanced Placement Biology. She was shocked to find out that Daryl was failing English and Social Studies, and barely squeaking by in everything else.

Daryl knew that red blood cells carried oxygen to the organs and tissues in the body and that if blood was being diverted from the circulatory system, oh, say from something like internal bleeding, there was less oxygen getting to the body and the brain, thus, lightheadedness could and most likely would occur.

He decided that he'd just stay here for a minute, get his bearings, clear his head and then go let Rick know what he'd found.

"Well ain't you a good lil' bitch." Imaginary Merle was disgusted. "You just run to your good friend Rick and hop up an down and tell 'im whatcha found like a good dog. Wag your tail and maybe he'll give you a good skritch behind thr ears and pat your head real nice."

"Fuck off, " Daryl replied. He stood up straight, took a deep breath and headed for the door. The wave of dizziness hit again and he grabbed the door casing and held it, afraid that if he let go, he would find himself sitting on his ass.

"Hey, Daryl. You okay? You don't look so good."

Daryl's eyes shot up and met Shane's. " M' fine." Daryl said dryly, trying desperately to compose himself. "Jes' fine. "

Shane motioned to the Humvees. "Those are some pretty amazing pieces of equipment, don't you think? Shane moved a few steps closer to Daryl. "And all those tools. You could probably build a rocket launcher with all this stuff."

Sweat had started to bead on Daryl's forehead and he took a deep breath.

"You sure you're alright?" Shane asked him as he stepped closer to Daryl, his dark eyes studying him, sizing him up. "You're lookin' mighty pale."

"Okay, Shane, that's close enough." Daryl snarled. "n' like I said, m' fine." He leaned his back against the door casing, wishing the dizziness would just go away, even for just a minute. This was not the time to be lacking clarity.

Shane closed the distance between Daryl and himself and stopped three feet from where Daryl stood, breathing heavily and leaning on the door frame. He could see sweat running down the man's face.

"Daryl, not long ago you told me I'd never catch you unprepared for me again." He stepped in closer and put his mouth right to Daryl's ear, "you know what? " Shane whispered. "I think you were wrong."

"There you are you guys! Wow, would you look at this!"

It was Andrea. "Daryl are you alright? You don't look so hot."

Daryl took a deep breath and pushed himself past Shane heading towards the garage's exit.

"I'm fuckin' fine. There's a shitload a food in a bunch a freezers in there." He motioned to the room he had just come out of. "Check it out. Maybe there's somethin' you might wanna take back Tao Hershel an' the rest a them. "

He staggered out the door and when he was out of Andrea and Shane's line of sight, he bent over, grasping the tops of his knees and breathing deeply.

The dizziness retreated and he stood up straight and headed for the back porch. "Shit!" He rolled his eyes and turned on his heels and went back into the garage, making his way back into the freezer room.

Shane and Andrea were digging through what Daryl had deemed the Junk Food Freezer, exclaiming over froze pizza rolls and enchiladas. Daryl grabbed the package of bacon he'd left on the freezer closest to the door and left, headed back to the house.

Back in the kitchen, Daryl took an oxycodone, mentally berating himself for having to do it because he'd been so self-proud of the fact that he hadn't taken one for quite a while. "I'm a damned pussy" he said under his breath as he dug around under the cupboards, looking for a frying pan. He wanted some bacon and he wanted it _now_.

The "ding" of the microwave let him know that the bacon was done being defrosted.

He found a large cast iron pan, lit the stove, and placed the pan over the burner. He hummed to himself as the pan heated up. When it was hot, he dumped the whole pound or so of thick cut bacon into the pan. It sizzled and spattered and immediately its wonderful scent filled the kitchen. He pushed it around in the pan and flipped it over a few times as it cooked.

He unraveled about ten paper towels off the roll by the sink and piled them on a dinner plate that he pulled from the cupboard.

He was just removing the bacon from the pan onto the paper towels with a fork when Shane, Andrea and Rick all showed up in the kitchen. At the same fuckin' time. He was so not going to share his bacon with them.

"Wow," said Rick, "Do I smell bacon?"

"No," said Daryl grumpily.

Rick feigned a hurt expression.

"Fine, fine, you fuckin' vultures." Daryl grumbled as he pulled out a smaller plate and dumped a few pieces of bacon on it before grabbing the bigger plate and retreating to the deck at the front of the house.

The bacon was wonderful and as he ate the last piece, he couldn't help but wish he'd told Rick and company to go to hell and cook up their own damned bacon.

"Hey Darleena, can I getcha a little black French maid outfit? Your friend Rick would think you're mighty cute in it." Imaginary Merle laughed.

Shane, Rick and Andrea came out the door and onto the deck just as Daryl got up with his plate to leave. Andrea carried a plate full of pizza rolls and Shane carried a plate piled with piping hot enchiladas. Rick had a pitcher of iced tea and three glasses.

"Daryl," Rick smiled. "Care to join us?"

"No thanks," Daryl answered.

"We'll be leaving soon, " Rick said, " would you like one of us to stay, keep you company?"

"I'm good," Daryl replied as he walked toward the front door and Rick thought he sounded very tired.

* * *

Daryl walked into his bedroom and closed and locked the door. He leaned his crossbow against the chair by the closet and stripped down to his skivvies. He was sweating and his hair stuck to the back of his neck and his face. He stepped into the bathroom and stood over the sink. The whites of his eyes were now pink and not red. His face was awfully pale and the contrast between his pale skin and the dark bruises was startling. He splashed cold water onto his face. It ran down his neck and his chest and dripped onto the floor beneath him.

He stopped to answer nature's call and wasn't surprised to see more blood.

Daryl walked out of the bathroom and flicked the switch to turn on the ceiling fan. He was so damned tired and he still had so much to do. He had explored the garage and was pleased with what he had found there. Before the day was done, he would have the room on the third floor opened. He yawned and stretched and slid onto the top of the bed. Just a nap, he told himself. Just a quick nap. He took a deep breath and exhaled.

The dizziness returned and Daryl held on as the bed turned circles. This didn't usually happen unless he was drunk, he thought tiredly. He held on and rode the bed as it twirled and ducked until he couldn't hold on any more and he let go and let sleep carry him away.


	20. Chapter 20

_The men in camouflage were closing in on him. He stumbled through the thick brush, trying to throw them off, but his open wound was leaving a blood trail that was easily followed._

_Shane was leading them._

_They were closing in and suddenly he heard shots and he went down. He'd been hit. His legs were now bleeding from gunshot wounds and useless._

_Shane appeared behind him, in camouflage and brandishing a crossbow. Daryl's crossbow._

_Shane walked up to Daryl and crouched next to him. "So how do you fire this thing?"_

_Daryl wouldn't answer him._

_Shane pulled one of Daryl's Blackhawks out of his belt, pointed it at Daryl's face and pulled the hammer back._

_Daryl kept his eyes steady on Shane's. He would NOT show the bastard any semblance of fear. He would not close his eyes. He would not beg for his life._

_Shane held the gun less than a foot from Daryl's forehead._

_Nothing happened._

_Daryl smirked. "So what are you waitin' for, pussy? Do it."_

_Shane did._

Daryl sat up quickly, suddenly wide awake and was hit by a wave of dizziness in response to his rapid change from horizontal to vertical.

Someone was knocking on his bedroom door.

"_Whuut_?" He asked loudly and more than a just a little grumpily.

"We're heading out, Daryl, " said Rick's voice from the other side of the door. "Are you sure you don't want me or Andrea to stay?"

At least he was smart enough not to volunteer Shane.

"I'm good. You won't be offended if I don't come out an' give you a kiss goodbye, will you?"

"No," Rick laughed.

"Don't wanna make Shane jealous."

"Hey, _fuck you_, Dixon!" Shane's voice came through the door.

Ooops. Shane was standing right there? Oh well. If he couldn't take a joke then fuck 'im. He was already on Shane's shit list.

"See you tomorrow," Rick's voice called.

Daryl waited about ten minutes and then sat up on the edge of the bed. He was hit with a dizzy spell, but it passed quickly. He took a couple of deep breaths and that seemed to clear his head. He went into the bathroom and pulled the clock out from the middle of the pile of clean towels in the cupboard. It was almost 5pm.

Daryl returned the clock to its place on the wall of the bedroom and grabbed the holster belt and the two Rugers, clipping the tie downs over their grips after double checking their cylinders and making sure they were loaded and ready to go.

The others were gone now and he could tackle the locked room on the third floor.

He hadn't wanted to enlist any of their help with trying to get the room open because he was a selfish bastard and he wanted to see what was in the room first. He found the room; he got to see what was in it first. It was just that simple. He also wanted to be able to look over whatever was in there at his leisure and not with other eyes peeking over his shoulder, questioning and poking and prodding.

He would check out the tool selection in the garage. Surely there had to be some tools out there among the many of them that would help him to access the room on the third floor.

Daryl stopped in the kitchen on his way out to the garage. He stepped over by the sink. There were several dirty dishes and some dirty silverware in it. He opened the cupboard under the sink and found what he was looking for. A dish rack and a rubber mat to place it on. The kitchen was equipped with a nice stainless steel dishwasher, but Daryl couldn't see using it with only this many dishes needing washing. He stopped up the stink and squirted some dishwashing liquid into it, grabbed a fresh sponge from a package of them under the sink and washed and rinsed the damned dishes, placing them in the rack to air dry. He wiped off the counters and the kitchen island and then scrubbed the ice-cream fingerprints off the freezer door and handle.

He nodded with satisfaction as he squeezed out the sponge and placed it in the stone, grooved soap holder on the back of the sink.

OCD much? He asked himself. No….it was just that this was a nice house and he wanted to keep it looking nice. Was there something wrong with that?

"Not at all," Imaginary Merle piped up, "If'n you're, you know, a fuckin' _pussy_."

"Jus' 'cause I don't wanna live in a pig sty it don't make me a _pussy_." Daryl snatched the garage key off the key holder and stormed out the door. He marched to the garage purposefully and unlocked the side door.

He inhaled the smell of cold cement, engine oil and diesel fuel. He had always loved the smell of a garage. And basements. He smirked. Just another part of the weirdness that made him Daryl Dixon.

He walked down the right side of the garage, and found the first thing he was looking for; a crowbar. He picked up a sledge hammer and a large set of bolt cutters and then crossed over to the other side of the garage and located a 12 pound splitting maul and a 5 pound splitting wedge. He arranged the tools so he could carry them all together and started for the house, careful not to bump anything he carried against the Blackhawks.

Daryl had gone about 10 feet towards the house when the pain in his left side returned with a vengeance. It felt like someone had suddenly driven a dull, ragged edged knife into his side and he dropped the tools and protectively grabbed and held where it hurt, falling to his knees, face contorted with pain and eyes shut tightly. "_Fuck_," he gasped. He broke into a sweat and took a deep breath and yelped; deep breaths were definitely out. Hadn't he learned his lesson from before? Small, shallow breaths, yes, that was better.

"You gotta let that horse doc check you out 'n fix you up or you're gonna die, baby brother." Imaginary Merle actually sounded concerned.

Daryl felt like someone was tying his left kidney and the surrounding tissue into knots. He raised his left arm over his head and stretched it out, pulling the left side of his ribcage and the surrounding muscles taut. He felt something twinge deep inside below his newest scar and then the pain started receding. What the hell had happened?

He stayed on his knees for another minute, until he was sure he was okay, and he collected the tools and started back into the house.

As he climbed the stairs to the second floor, he thought to himself that he should probably leave his bedroom door open that night when retired for the evening. That way, if he died in his sleep, no one would have to bust the door down and damage the door casing. Then again, maybe no one would notice until he'd been there a week or so and started to stink. He smirked. What a morbid thought.

He passed the rooms on the second floor and mentally reminded himself to stop into the room with the guitars in it later and grab one to fool around with. It would be nice to see how much he remembered.

He arrived on the third floor and set the tools on the floor around his feet. He leaned the splitting maul against the wall next to the door and lined up the other tools across the hall.

He grabbed the bolt cutters first and attacked the padlocks on the door. The bolt cutters were sharp and Daryl expected them to cut through the metal padlock arms like they were butter. He was wrong. He wrestled with the bolt cutters, pulling them closed as hard as he could. The muscles in his strong arms flexed and contracted as he pushed and pulled on the cutters. He felt the lock arm give a bit and stopped to take a breather and check it. He had cut partially through the lock arm. He put the cutters on the floor and went into the closest bathroom, turned the faucet on, put his head under the running water and drank deeply.

It took him another ten minutes to finally finish cutting through the first lock. "What the hell is this thing made of?" he grumbled to himself. "Adamantium?"

He couldn't cut the second padlock no matter how hard he tried. This made him completely furious and he let loose with a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. He kicked at the door and swore and stomped around and yelled and cursed some more.

After his brief temper tantrum, he tried to position the splitting wedge in between the padlock arm and the lock so he could give it a good pounding with the sledgehammer. He lifted the sledgehammer over his head and brought it down as hard as he could. Just before it hit the wedge, the wedge fell away from the padlock onto the floor, barely missing Daryl's foot. The hammer smashed into the lock body, but the lock arm still held. This caused another bout of swearing, kicking, stomping and yelling. The same thing happened the second and third time Daryl tried to position the splitting wedge in the lock and after the third time he picked up the splitting maul and started hacking at door with it. The door splintered and pieces of it started flying in all directions. He continued to yell and chop and finally had managed to chop a 4" gash into the door. He brought his face up tight to the hole and hollered_,"Heeeeere's Johnny!"_Yeah, 'The Shining' had been a great movie.

He stepped back and prepared to take out the rest of the wooden hickory door when he heard a gurgling groan and a boney hand reached out through the new hole in the door. He swallowed hard, realizing that a few seconds ago his face was right where the walker's hand was grasping.

So this is the big secret, the big surprise, a walker? Hell, maybe two of them, or three or four? He was disappointed. He cursed himself for not having his crossbow with him.

The walker was female, she tried to push her head out through the hole in the door and she stretched her decaying arm out towards him, growling and groaning.

"I'll be right back, sweetheart," he said to her and he winked and blew her a kiss as he headed down the hall towards the stairs. He ran down the stairs to the second floor and then took two stairs at a time down to the first floor and ran towards his room to grab his crossbow.

He had just entered his bedroom and put on the brakes when someone hiding behind the door with a baseball bat smashed it over his head. Okay, there was no one behind the door with a baseball bat, but Daryl was sure that was what had happened because that's what it sure as hell felt like. "SONUVABITCH!" he cried as he slapped a hand over each ear to keep his brains from leaking out of them. For a moment he thought he was going to pass out.

'Okay, Daryl, think this through. You've been all wired up for the last 45 minutes. You've been yelling and carrying on and you're running on adrenaline. This means your blood pressure is probably sky high right now, and when blood pressure rises suddenly, it can cause a headache. This is especially true if you've been subjected to a head injury. Now fuckin' calm down before you blow a blood vessel. '

He picked up his crossbow and grabbed six bolts. He made himself walk up the stairs and not run and tried to take measured, even breaths. Daryl didn't want to enter a room potentially full of walkers if there was any chance that he would be anything but completely lucid.

He cleared the last two steps and stepped into the third floor hallway. His headache was continuous, but it had backed off in intensity and Daryl was able to push it down and place it in that part of his mind that stored "Things to Ignore".

The walker was still reaching through the hole in the door and it appeared she had been joined by another one, as a larger, obviously male walker with a peeling hairy arm was reaching out into the hallway over the female's arm.

"Wheeee!" Daryl called to them, "now it's a party!" He approached the door and set a bolt in his crossbow. For a moment he considered yanking out the twin Rugers and just blasting the hell out of the damned undead things, but he didn't want to cause any more damage to the room than he had to. He had hoped to be able to somehow take out the walker or walkers with as little gut and fluid spillage as possible, or he was going to be scrubbing floors and walls all night. He got closer to the hole he had smashed in the door and the female walker tried to push her head out through it. He hit the trigger and the bolt entered and almost completely exited through the female walker's skull. She fell and the male walker's face immediate took the place of hers at the hole in the door. He loaded another bolt and fired, almost point blank. It was like shooting fish in a barrel.

The walker went down and Daryl waited, watching the splintered hole in what was previously a nice and extremely solid hickory door. Nothing approached the hole in the door. Daryl moved in a bit closer and listened. He couldn't hear any movement or any moans or groans coming from the room, but he wasn't sure just how much he could actually hear. After all, he had no idea that there were walkers in the locked room but really, was it so surprising? After all, the door had been padlocked on the outside; obviously to keep something in.

Daryl moved closer to the door and whistled shrilly. "Anyone else in there?" He hollered towards the door. He waited five minutes and nothing happened. He heard no noises indicative of walkers or anything else moving in the room. Satisfied that things were relatively safe, he picked up the splitting maul and pounded the hell out of the padlock and then the door. The padlock finally spit in half and landed on the floor in two metal chunks bearing no resemblance to what they had once been. The deadbolt was easier and Daryl then gleefully smashed the door handle. What was left of the door popped open and swayed on its hinges swinging into the room.

Daryl cursed himself for not bringing his Bowie knife with him and for a second he considered running down to his room to fetch it. He decided against the idea. Now that the door was open, if there were any walkers left in the room, they would make their way out into the hall while he was goofing around getting the knife. Then he'd end up having to dispatch them in a location other than the room where he'd already taken out two of the damned things already and have a mess in yet another location to have to clean up. No, he'd rather keep any mess in one room, if at all possible.

Daryl peeked into the room and flipped on the light switch next to the door. There were no other walkers in the room and Daryl took a closer look at the two he had taken down. Both were dressed in tattered camouflage fatigues and both wore side arms, military issue Glocks by the looks. His eyes scanned the room. It was about 24 x 20 feet and there were two doors on the back wall leading to other rooms. Daryl turned a circle taking in everything in the room.

On the left was a long table with eight stations and office chairs pulled up to it. It was set up with file drawers, microphones and laptops at each station. On the wall above was a bank of twenty monitors, part of what Daryl figured must be a security system. Five of the monitors were lit up and apparently feeding from security cameras.

Daryl felt his skin crawl when he noticed one monitor was displaying a live feed of the front deck and the dock and another one a view of the Humvees parked in the garage.

There were maps tacked to the wall and a map of Georgia with Mirror Lake, Savannah, and Atlanta circled. The top of the map was labeled "NDBH Emergency Martial Law Headquarters - Bases". Someone had written "Looking Glass Base" next to Mirror Lake on the map, "Lookout Point Base" next to Savannah and "Overlook Base" next to Atlanta. Chattanooga TN was circled with "Riverside Base" written next to it and Birmingham Alabama was marked "Birbama Base". A couple of names on other cities and towns had been scribbled out with a red sharpie and "DEAD" written in red next to it. Atlanta had been partially crossed out.

Daryl's eyes scanned the room. The wall to the right as you entered the room was covered with firearms and riot gear. There were about twenty riot shields stacked up in rows of four against the wall, riot helmets along a shelf above them and along the wall, every sort of military issue automatic weapon worth having including Russian A74Us, M16S, Uzis, Stoner 63A Commandos and Ares Shrikes. Two rows of handguns of every make and size along the wall rounded out the firearms selection. Several stacks of boxes on the side of the shelf contained egg carton like compartments, each home to a type of hand grenade.

Daryl scratched his head. What the hell was this? Another large box next to the riot gear held camouflage fatigues and black military issue pants and pullover long sleeved shirts, along with several reversible camo/black neoprene balaclavas and hats.

Daryl was overwhelmed. He backed up and plopped his butt into one of the office chairs, leaning forward to put his head in his hands. He needed time to process all of this.

He willed his mind to stop racing and to calm the hell down. He could feel a buildup of brain farts just waiting to cut loose and he hoped he could keep them locked up until he'd had a few moments to think some of this through.

No, no, he didn't want to think right now. Right now he wanted, no, he _needed_ to see what was behind door number two and door number thtee.

He approached the first door at the back of the room and raised his crossbow. He turned the doorknob quickly and kicked the door open. Nothing happened. He reached in and found a light switch and flipped it on. A row of fluorescent light across the ceiling blinked on.

The room was lined with cement blocks and was quite cold. He could hear air being circulated through the room by, what, an air conditioner? It seemed that that was the case. There were cabinets and shelves of medical supplies. Bandages, tape, splints, gauze, creams and salves, ointments, suture kits, plaster cast mix, surgical tool kits, masks, gowns, tanks of oxygen, nasal cannulas, suction equipment, surgical drapes, sponges, bottles of peroxide, betadine, rubbing alcohol, acetone, chloroform and ether. One of the cabinets held every kind of antibiotic you could think of and another one was full of heavy duty painkillers. Oxycodone, Percacett, Darvon, Valium and Morphine. There were shelves with injectibles medications and even more pills and liquids. Merle would have been like a kid in a candy store, Daryl thought, and he had to admit that the thought of a good Morphine induced nap sounded really good to him.

A small refridgerator held heat sensitive medications and injectibles bottles and there was a small bathroom set back next to it.

There was a curtain separating a third of the room from the rest of it and there were three gurneys and large bright adjustable lights behind it, along with a large sink an shower in the corner. Daryl left what he would think of for now on as the "med room" and silently approached the last door. Door number three.

Daryl opened door number three. The room was beige in color and had two bunk beds in it and two queen sized beds. The beds were made and there wasn't any indication that any walkers had been in there. There were two refrigerators with top freezers in the room, along with an oven, a microwave and a sink. There was a bathroom off the kitchen part of the room with a shower and a toilet. There was a bank of solar batteries near the stove and a fuse box on the wall. Both of the rooms off the main weapons arsenal room had several locks on the inside and both were air conditioned.

Someone had put a lot of planning, time and effort into building this house and these rooms. Why?

Daryl left the room and shut the door. He sat back down in the office chair he had vacated a short time ago. He leaned back in the office chair as far as he could without falling out of it on his head. He started to mentally make his "things to do" list but after thinking for a minute or two, he mentally erased it and changed it to a "things to do in the next hour or two" list. Daryl was sure that to try to tackle any more than that would make his head explode.

He knew one of the first things on the list would be disposing of the walkers he had dispatched. What a pain the ass that would be. He'd have to wrap them up in the trash bags and drag them out of the house without getting walker blood and guts all over the place. Daryl wondered for a minute if he couldn't just chop them up in small pieces and flush them down the toilet. Put them down the garbage disposal? No, he'd have to haul them outdoors and bury or burn them.

He'd have to wipe up and mop the floors where the walker's fluids and other disgusting parts had soiled the house.

Yes, that is what he would do for the next hour or so.

Later he would tackle the information overload that this room had thrown at him, but not right now. No, not right now. His head ached and it was too much to deal with.

Daryl pushed his hair out of his eyes and left the room, heading down the hall to get some cleaning supplies. He hummed as he walked.


	21. Chapter21

Chapter 22

Daryl spent the next two hours cleaning up the mess in the room where he'd put down the two walkers. He remembered seeing a box of contractor heavy duty trash bags in the garage and he retrieved them, along with a 5 gallon blue plastic pail. The bags were huge and after doing some creative bending and breaking, he was able to stuff each body into its own bag. The smell was bad, but not as bad as most walkers he'd had the pleasure of encountering and he chalked that up to the air filtering system in the room and the fact that the walkers had not reached an advanced stage of decay.

He dragged the bags to the first floor, outside the back door and over near the gravesites in the back yard. He'd burn the walkers tomorrow. He didn't want to build a fire and risk attracting any other walkers or even worse, people that might be lurking around in the woods.

"Paranoid wuss. Wuss wuss wuss." Imaginary Merle singsonged.

Daryl ignored him and headed back into the house. Paranoid? Maybe, but he wasn't being a wuss, he was being smart. According to the map he'd seen in the exciting new room, this was some sort of base and there were others out there. It wouldn't be unreasonable to assume that the walkers in the room had at one time been a part of the operations of the Mirror Lake base, (what was it called again? Oh yeah, 'Looking Glass Base') and that there must have been some sort of communication between bases.

Daryl's mind was racing.

So, it only stood to reason that Looking Glass Base had stopped communicating with the other bases or whateverthehell was out there once everyone at the house had died. The camouflaged walkers and flashlight guy; were they part of Looking Glass Base or were they sent here from another stronghold to find out why communications had ceased?

Imaginary Merle scoffed, "Ya don't know if any a that shit is true. Ya always had one a them there overactivated 'maginations."

Imaginary Merle was right and Daryl pondered his behavior as of late. He had always had a problem with an occasional brain fart, but since the apocalypse, it seemed that they came more frequently. He had changed, too, since the dead had started to rise. He had gone from being relatively calm, cool headed and rational, well most of the time he had been, to being unstable, hot headed, angry and totally paranoid.

Imaginary Merle tossed in his two cents. "Ya mean crazy."

He thought Merle was probably right. There had always been stories when he was young, hushed and whispered stories of a Crazy Aunt Liza who had totally gone off the deep end and had ended up in a psychiatric hospital. Daryl knew, even as a young boy, that "psychiatric hospital" was a euphemism for the nuthouse, booby hatch or insane asylum; whichever you preferred to call it. What it all boiled down to was that Aunt Liza was crazy crazy crazy. Now he wondered if he had inherited the crazy gene and had embarked on his own special journey to the land of insanity. He certainly wasn't the same man he'd been six months ago, but then again, it wasn't the same world it had been six months ago either.

Daryl had taken the pail up to the third floor along with a bottle of Pine-sol from under the kitchen sink. He had filled the pail half full of hot water and dumped half the bottle of Pine-sol into it and then cleaned and scrubbed the wood floor in the room that he had now dubbed "The War Room" and the floor in the hall in front of the room. When he was finished, the room smelled pine – fresh and the floor showed no sign of ever being covered with puddles of slimy vitreous fluids and pieces of rotting flesh. He dumped the bucket out in the nearest bathroom's toilet and soon the bathroom smelled pine fresh, too. He wiped the bucket out and tossed it into the bathroom's linen closet.

Daryl inspected the mess he'd made of the door to the war room and sighed. He would need to replace the door and soon. This room was not meant to be easily accessible. Daryl could just imagine Carl snooping around in it; handling the firearms and playing with the laptops and doing all sorts of other things that Carl knew would totally piss off the adults in the group. Lori never watched the damned kid and he was always running off, worrying and distressing his parents when they couldn't find the little shit anywhere.

Daryl decided that he probably wasn't going to be getting to Home Depot any time soon, and it would take at least a day or so to make a decent, heavy door. He would borrow a door off a different room to replace the broken one for now. He would have to make sure that the replacement door was the same width as the broken one. Usually the bedroom doors in a house were pretty uniform in width, but Daryl figured with his luck, this would be the time he'd take a door off and it would be an inch or so too wide.

He didn't have a tape measure with him and did he really want to trek out and unlock and relock the garage just for that? He ducked into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Amidst the band aids, razor blades and deodorant he found what he was looking for; dental floss. He approached the broken door and stretched the floss out, severing its length to match the width of the door. He then walked down the hall and spread the piece of dental floss across the width of the game room door. Perfect.

Daryl sneered. This was just perfect. Now the door to the room where Carl would probably be spending a lot of time playing video games and watching movies would be absent and parental and adult supervision would be a snap. His sneer turned into an all out grin. Hell, now he wouldn't even have to worry about a replacement door.

It took him over an hour to remove the broken door from the war room and the door from the game room and to set the war room's "new" door on its hinges. Daryl stood back when he was done and admired his handiwork.

There was no locking mechanism on the door or built into the knob, but he would take care of that.

He ended up having to make the trip out to the garage after all and after retrieving what he needed, he locked the garage door. A great horned owl hooted from the woods behind the garage and another one further back in the woods answered it. Daryl stood and leaned against the garage door. The pain in his left side started to increase and he braced himself against the door and grit his teeth. 'Okay, you fucker,' he thought,' I'm ready for you.' It built up quickly and suddenly and unexpectedly, he was overcome with nausea. He stepped two steps away from the garage door and vomited. He held a trembling hand against the side of the garage, head down as he broke out in a sweat. Another wave of nausea hit and he threw up again. Blood. He could taste it. He was puking blood again. "Well isn't that fuckin' special," he groaned to himself.

The headache joined the party right about then. It came on hard and strong and took Daryl's breath away as it kicked his ass. "Push it down, Dixon, push it down."

The pain in his left side subsided and the headache became manageable again as he concentrated on his breathing and on pushing the fuckin' pain down.

'Just sit right down right here, unholster one of those Blackhawks and opt out. No more pain, no more worries, no more guilt.'

No, he was a Dixon and Dixon's didn't take the easy way out. Besides, the old doc was coming tomorrow and he'd be able to tell Daryl what the deal was; and now they had a whole shitload of antibiotic and medications. Surely the ol' doc would be able to get Daryl fixed up as right as rain.

Daryl leaned on the garage and looked up at the sky. The stars were out and the half moon had risen and was throwing pale light across the landscape. It was a beautiful night. He remembered how Merle would bring him outside on nights like this when he was a young boy and how Merle had taught him the names and locations of constellations and stars. He had been totally in awe of his big brother and so grateful that Merle cared enough about him to share this special knowledge with him. He wondered where Merle was and if he was looking up at the sky, too. He wondered if Merle ever thought about him and if Merle missed him like he missed Merle.

Of course he didn't. Merle had chosen to leave him behind with Rick and the others. He had done it on purpose. Merle knew where the camp was when he went into Atlanta with the party seeking out supplies. Daryl had left to go into the woods hunting the day before. Merle _knew_ this. Merle knew Daryl would come for him. Didn't he? Merle had stolen the box truck that the rescue team had driven into Atlanta with and then taken off without coming for Daryl. If Merle had felt abandoned when he was handcuffed on that roof in Atlanta, well, Daryl had felt abandoned when Merle had up and left for parts unknown without him.

"_FUCK YOU, MERLE_," He shouted at the sky.

The crickets all paused their songs and Imaginary Merle remained silent this time.

Daryl's breath hitched as he stifled a sob and brushed the back of his hand across his traitorous eyes. He would not, would _not_, shed tears for that fucking asshole.

Get a grip, Dixon.

Daryl marched purposefully up onto the back porch and into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him and locking it.

After snagging a bottle of morphine tablets from what he now thought of as the "med room", he nailed the war room door shut with the large 4" nails he'd brought in from the garage. Depending on who showed up tomorrow, he might pull the nails and open the door, but at this point he just wanted it securely closed.

Back in his room, he gathered up his dirty laundry and carried the bundle of it into the laundry room. It had been a long time since he'd used a washing machine and damn, it was going to be so nice after scrubbing his clothes against washboards and rocks in rivers, ponds and streams for the last few months. Daryl had always washed and hung his own clothes to dry. He sure as hell didn't want Andrea or Lori or God forbid, Carol, handling his boxers and briefs.

He thought for a moment. Okay, darks in this pile, whites in this one. This is red, where does this go? Does it get its own pile? Is there a pile for colors? The whites are separate from red, 'cause when Merle did the laundry once he threw a new red flannel shirt in with the whites and all the briefs and tank undershirts came out pink; Merle, you dumb shit.

After about five minutes of trying to sort laundry, he said fuck it and threw it all into the front loading machine together. He didn't really give a shit if his underwear ended up being pink. He stripped out of the clothes he was wearing and threw them in the washing machine, too, then poured some soap into the machine and turned it on. The machine started filling and Daryl marveled at how impressed he was with something so easily taken for granted just six months ago.

Daryl made his way into the bathroom in the master bedroom suite at about 11:30pm. He was tired and his left side was raising a ruckus again.

He went about his new evening routine, washing his face and hands and brushing his teeth. He looked at his face in the bathroom mirror. He was starting to get used to seeing it clean. His face was deeply tanned and he had tiny wrinkles in the corners of his eyes from too much time spent in the elements and squinting at potential targets. The stubble on his chin was starting to come in white in a couple of places and he noticed a couple of white hairs blended in with the hair near his temples. His hair had lighter streaks throughout it courtesy of too much time in the sun but it they were not noticeable unless you looked for them. It did seem to Daryl, though, that since he'd started washing his hair on a more a less regular basis, it had all lightened up some. Either that or the decrease in the dirt and grime in his hair made it just appear a bit lighter.

Daryl's pale blue eyes looked tired and the whites were pink and bloodshot, but not as bad as they'd been the previous couple of days. The final touch to his weathered face was the dark circles under his eyes.

He sighed. Right now it looked like he was Merle's older brother and not the other way around.

Daryl double checked and made sure all the doors and windows on the first floor were locked then took a morphine tablet with a glass of water.

He flipped on the ceiling fan and slid between the sheets after carefully placing the Rugers and his Bowie knife under his pillows. He yawned and turned onto his right side and wondered if he'd dream tonight. If he did, he wondered who his executioner would be this time. Dale, Lori, Carl, T-Dog, Glen, and Carol hadn't had a crack at him yet so he was betting it would be one of them.

He closed his eyes and listened to the clock on the wall ticking. He thought of the walkers that had been in the room on third floor and wondered what they had been doing in there and what all the guns, the Humvees, the food stores, and all the other crazy shit he'd found in this house was all about. A Martial Law base. Was this a group that was part of the government? Was it going to try to establish a new government? Was it going to take over and take in survivors, or try to eliminate them?

He decided he would discuss all of that with Rick tomorrow, after he'd spoken with Hershel. He grabbed one of the extra pillows and hugged it to his chest as he curled up and pulled the sheets up to his neck. The bed was comfortable and just warm enough and the morphine had pushed the pain away and Daryl smiled drowsily as he slipped into a deep sleep.

* * *

Daryl awoke at a little after 6am. He lay in bed and argued with himself for about 10 minutes about the virtues and benefits of sleeping in before hauling his ass out of bed. He slid his feet into his slippers and shuffled into the laundry room to throw his clothes in the dryer and then headed back to his room to take a shower.

Hershel was supposed to come today to check him over. The last time Hershel had worked on Daryl it had been to stitch up the wound caused when he impaled himself on one of his bolts and to clean up and bandage the small trench on the left upper side of his head that had been caused by the 30-06 bullet Andrea had tried to kill him with. Daryl had just dragged his ass out of a ravine after lying in the dirt for over an hour and then rolling around on the ground with a walker. He'd eaten some raw squirrel meat and had blood and squirrel guts on his face and in his stubbly beard; blood from his injuries all over his torso, face and in his hair and he was a filthy, disgusting, dirty mess. Poor Hershel had tried to wipe off what dirt and grime he could before tending to Daryl's wounds, but it had appeared to be a losing battle.

The next morning as Hershel changed Daryl's arrow wound dressing, he had overheard him telling Rick that he'd had to tend to a cow once that had fallen into the manure pit and that it was still cleaner than Daryl Dixon had been when he had been brought in.

Daryl stepped into the shower. The morphine had worn off and the pain underneath his new scar was starting to throb, but it was manageable. As Daryl washed himself, he noticed that the left side of his abdomen was a bit swollen. The bruises were changing color and then he noticed a different and sort of unusual looking bruise. There was a new bruise in the shape of a circle encircling his navel. He'd never seen anything like it. It looked like someone had taken a purple-blue sharpie or something and drawn a circle with a one inch radius using his navel as the center point. How the hell did that happen? Bruises didn't look like that. That was just weird. He'd have to make sure he asked Hershel about that.

He washed his hair, being very careful about bumping the gash on his head, and after inspecting the rest of his body for any new and unusual bruises or cuts he'd missed; he turned off the shower and grabbed a towel.

He rubbed the towel gently through his hair, making sure not to disturb his head injuries, and then wrapped the towel around his waist. He made his bed, sort of, and then headed for the kitchen for a much needed cup of coffee. He rummaged through the cupboards after he had snapped a pre-measured cup of French roast coffee into the coffee maker and found a box of Lucky Charms and a box of powdered milk. He dug around in the cupboards under the counter and found a set of mixing bowls and grabbed the second to the biggest one, dumping most of the box of cereal in it. Daryl then opened the box of powdered milk and dumped a good amount of the powder on top of the cereal. He stuffed both boxes back in the cupboard and carried the bowl to the sink and poured about two cups of cold water into the bowl on top of the cereal and the powdered milk. Daryl grabbed a spoon out of the drawer and stirred the contents of the bowl together. He threw the spoon into the bowl, grabbed the cup of coffee out from under the coffee maker and walked through the dining room and the great room to the front door. He let himself outside and sat down at the patio table with his coffee and cereal. The chair cushion was cold against his naked rear end and he gasped when his skin made contact with the cool, rough fabric.

There was no breeze and the lake was flat and calm as the morning mist rolled off it. Daryl drank his coffee and listened to the birds sing. He separated the marshmallow pieces in his cereal, putting all the blue diamonds in a pile in one part of the bowl and all the green clovers in another pile, the pink hearts in their own pile and so on. The cereal was stale but Daryl thought it was wonderful and ate every last stale piece.

Daryl washed his dishes and the spoon he'd used and then went to see if his clothes were dry. They were and he pulled on a warm dry pair of boxers before sticking his legs into a pair of now clean faded jeans. He pulled a black t-shirt on over his head and then folded the rest of his clean clothes and brought them into his bedroom. He sat on his bed and sighed. He wanted to go hunting and get out into the woods and walk around. He wanted to finish mapping the area around the lake. He'd only gotten half of it done and he wanted to scout out the area some more.

Patience, patience, he told himself. He could do all those things once he'd seen Hershel, but if he took off now and Hershel showed up and he wasn't there…well, that would just be rude. If he was disabled by an extra hard attack of the killer headaches and old arrow injury aches and a walker happened along, well, that wouldn't be too cool, either.

Daryl decided he'd grab a book from the office on the third floor and sit out on the deck and die of boredom. Did he just think that? No, he'd sit on the deck and read.

He slowly walked up to the third floor and entered the office with the large mahogany desk and credenza and the shelves and shelves full of books.

He started going through the titles of the books on the shelf behind the chair at the desk.

"The History of Modern Warfare", "Hand to Hand Combat Strategies", "The Truth About Our Government", "Martial Law and the Overthrow of Tyranny"'

Daryl raised his eyebrows. What the hell was this shit?

"Explosives and Timing Devices." "Guide to Choke Holds - How to Apply Them, How to Escape Them" Daryl grabbed the book on choke holds and started glancing through it as he walked down the stairs to the first floor. He was sure that he would find it to be very interesting.

Daryl sat on the end of the dock and swung his feet in the water as he read and sipped on another cup of coffee. He was determined to learn what he could from this book. It would be nice to at least have some idea about what to do if he and Shane ever got into it again and Shane pulled the choke hold card.

It was about 8:30 and the day was promising to be another hot one. A nice breeze had picked up, though and it blew Daryl's hair back away from his face as he read. He ran his hand through his hair. Yeah, he really needed a haircut. Maybe he'd just try to do it himself. He cocked his head towards the driveway. Did he hear…? Yes he did. A truck stopping up at the closed gate. He heard T-Dog's jovial laugh and then Glen's voice shouted and T-Dog laughed again.

Daryl closed the book and trotted inside with it, shoving it in one of the kitchen drawers, and then walked quickly out onto the back porch to greet Rick and his group of visitors.

**I know, it's been slow going, but Hershel has finally arrived at the lake house. I hope I haven't bored anyone to death yet. = ) Thanks for your patience and your reviews. I really appreciate the time you're taking to read my story. Thanks!**


	22. Chapter 22

Daryl watched as Glenn bounded up and over the chain link fence like a monkey on steroids. He ran towards Daryl as T-Dog and Rick guided Hershel to a level spot and Maggie and Shane approached, Shane carrying his Mossberg shotgun and Hershel's leather medical bag

Maggie, Rick and Shane stopped to help Hershel up and over the fence. Daryl could hear him grumbling. "You've got to be kidding me. There isn't a gate? I'm too old to be climbing fences."

There was a gate, but it was on the other side of the house about 100 feet from the far wall. A steep bank in front of it on the outside made it very hard to access.

Glenn was bearing down on Daryl, a huge smile on his face and arms outspread and Daryl's eyes grew wide and he threw his hands up defensively, jumping two steps backward and to the left. "_Back off_, Chinaman!" He snarled.

Glenn's face fell as he slowed to a stop and Daryl thought he looked like someone had just killed his puppy or done him some other great injustice.

Cripes, it wasn't anything personal. Daryl just didn't like to be touched and he_especially_ hated being hugged.

Daryl looked at his feet and started to mumble an apology to Glenn for being so cranky when T-Dog barreled around Glenn and caught Daryl in a bear hug, lifting the man a good ten inches off the ground.

Daryl caught his breath as a jolt of pain exploded underneath his latest scar, and he stifled a string of curses and smacked T-Dog's shoulder,"Leggo a me, dammit!"

T-Dog did and smacked Daryl on the back, giving him a huge smile.

Daryl pulled at his t-shirt where it had ridden up when T-Dog had accosted him. "Good Lord," he complained gruffly, "y'all ain't got no respect for personal space or sumthin'?"

Glenn smiled at the grumpy redneck.

Maggie trotted up to where Glenn stood smiling like an idiot and put her hand on his shoulder.

She smiled at Daryl, "This is really nice." She said. "How are you feelin'? I know my Dad is anxious to see you."

"I'm okay," Daryl said. God, he hated small talk. Rick approached with Hershel and Shane right behind him. Rick clasped Daryl's arm and said, "Good to see you again, man."

Shane rolled his eyes, and gave Daryl the finger, a gesture only Daryl caught as everyone else had their backs to Shane.

Daryl smiled and looked past Rick and right at Shane, "Right back at 'cha."

Of course, Rick thought the comment was for him, but Shane knew better.

* * *

Everyone followed Daryl inside and he invited them to help themselves to coffee or whatever else they wanted and of course, Glenn was all about the ice cream. Daryl gave strict order that they were allowed _one_ pint a piece and that was it.

Hershel was anxious to check Daryl over and said so. "Is there a room where we can go and I'll check you over? A room with a bed and good lighting?" he asked.

Daryl nodded and asked Hershel to please bear with him for a moment.

Rick was removing a steaming cup of coffee from the coffeemaker when Daryl said, "I got that locked room open. Pretty interestin' stuff in there. Come take a look."

Glenn, Maggie and Hershel were amazed at how large and how nice the house was and commented on it as they made their way up to the last room on the third floor. Rick told them he would give them the whole tour later if it was okay with Daryl.

On the third floor, Glenn stuck his head into the door less game room and exclaimed, "Wow! Hey, Mags, look at this! Maybe we can play Call of Duty or Beatles Rock Band later!"

Maggie smiled and quietly told Glenn to hush.

Daryl reached to grab the hammer and the crowbar leaning against the door to the war room, but Shane beat him to it. Daryl had explained how he'd nailed the door shut and now Shane used the hammer claw and the crowbar to pull the nails out of the door where it was nailed to the casing.

He pulled out the last nail and Daryl pushed his way in front of Shane, opened the door and hit the lights. Everyone filed into the room.

"Holy _shit_!" Shane exclaimed. Daryl was already half way across the room motioning to Hershel to follow him as he approached the door to the med room. Rick and Shane were staring, mesmerized, at the wall of firearms. "Holy _SHIT_," Shane said again. "Is that a Stoner Commando?! Man, look at this stuff!"

"Watch out for them grenades, best not be fuckin' with any a' them," Daryl warned as he lead Hershel into the med room.

* * *

Hershel was impressed with the med room.

"This is incredible!" He walked around the room, checking out the shelves of supplies and the cabinets of drugs and antibiotics. He smiled as he picked up two of the many bottles of ether. He opened the door of a tiny refrigerator under one of the shelves and nodded to himself, then checked out the gurneys and the equipment behind the curtained "room".

After Hershel's initial inspection of the med room, he turned to Daryl and smiled. "Why don't we get started? I'll just shut the door here so we can have some privacy."

Daryl nodded and Hershel told Rick and the others that he was going to examine Daryl and that they'd catch up with them later. He told Maggie not to go too far in case he needed her for something.

Rick caught that and thought, 'surgery. Hershel thinks Daryl needs surgery. That's why he insisted on bringing Maggie, so she can assist him.' The thought worried Rick.

Hershel closed the door to the med room behind him and turned to Daryl. "Okay, son, why don't you undress and hop right up onto the table." He motioned to one of the gurneys as he approached it and then hit the wheel locks on it with his foot.

"Undress?" repeated Daryl.

"Down to your skivvies. Yes, please."

Daryl was all set to protest, but swallowed and did what he was told. After all, Hershel was doing him a huge favor, coming all the way out here to check him over. He slid out of his jeans and folded them and then pulled his t-shirt off over his head and folded that, placing it on top of his jeans on the shelf next to the gurney. He hopped up onto it and sat on the edge of it, his legs dangling as he fidgeted and swung them back and forth.

"Hershel?" Daryl asked,

The older man turned around.

"Um..I just wanna say thank you, you know, for fixing me up before. Don't think I ever thanked you for that. For openin' your home Tao me an' takin' care a' me. I 'ppreciate it an' I'm sorry I never said so. My manners ain't so great."

Hershel smiled. "You're welcome."

Hershel had opened his med bag and was rummaging through it. He pulled out his stethoscope and clipped it around his neck, then grabbed his penlight and a tongue depressor. He turned to Daryl and said, "Alright, young man, let's get started."

Hershel listened to Daryl's heart with the stethoscope. "Take a couple of deep breaths, please. Open your mouth. Hmmmm… Okay. Tilt your head back a bit for me. Okay. Now, can you follow this light with your eyes? Mmmmmmm hmmmm. Very good."

Hershel frowned as he examined Daryl's eyes. "You have extensive corneal hemorrhaging, I'm sure it was much worse a couple of days ago. Do you want to tell me what caused it, or shall I guess?"

Daryl fidgeted and started to chew his right thumbnail. "I got in a fight." He said quietly.

Hershel frowned and ran his fingers along Daryl's neck and underneath his jaw. "Corneal hemorrhaging and extensive bruising like this is indicative of strangulation. Who the hell attacked you, son?"

Daryl didn't answer.

Hershel nodded. Okay, he wouldn't push the man. "Would you lie back, please?"

Daryl scooted up further on the table and did as he was asked. Hershel gently ran his hands over Daryl's old bolt wound and suddenly pressed down on it quickly and hard.

Daryl gasped and his hands flew to his side protectively. "_What_ thaw_ hell_?" he shouted.

"I'm sorry," Hershel said. "How long have you had swelling here? Do you know?"

Daryl swallowed, slowly moving his hands away from where Hershel had just hurt him. "Noticed it yesterday."

Hershel motioned his hands to Daryl's stomach. "Did you see this bruise? This unusual bruise? It looks like a circle around your umbilicus?"

"Noticed that this mornin'."

"Have you had trouble breathing or blacked out lately? Have you been vomiting or coughing up blood or had any blood in your urine or bowels?" Hershel asked as he ran his hands gently over Daryl's stomach.

"What is this, the Spanish Inquisition?"

Hershel gave Daryl a surprised look.

Daryl dropped his eyes. "Sorry. Yeah, I been pukin' up an' pissin' blood. Blacked out two days ago an' been light headed, too, but figured it was from the concussion."

Hershel raised his eyebrows. "Concussion?"

Daryl blushed. "Yeah. Smacked my head pretty hard a couple nights ago."

Hershel sighed, "Ah, yes. Rick did mention that to me. Show me where."

Daryl touched the scabbed over wound on the left rear of his head.

Hershel moved up to the top of the table and Daryl turned his head so Hershel could get a good look at where he'd hit it against the night stand.

Hershel shook his head and "tsk tsk'd." "That really needs stitches or it won't heal well. It looks quite deep." Hershel pulled a chair over next to the gurney and sat down. He looked at his feet for a second and then looked back at Daryl. "Have you been having any pain down here in your left lower quadrant?" Hershel motioned towards Daryl's old wound.

"Yeah."

"Does it come sporadically, or is it always there and is it a sharp pain or something dull?"

"It ain't always there. Shows up ever' so often. Hurts like hell, feels like someone 's stabbin'me with a knife. Then it fades for a while. Keeps comin' back, though. "

Hershel nodded. "The blood you've been vomiting, is it dark, maroon colored or bright red?"

"Bright red."

Hershel sighed.

He thought for a moment and then spoke. "Son, you're bleeding internally. The bruise around your navel, that funny ring shaped bruise is called' Cullen's Sign' and it's indicative of internal bleeding in the abdomen. It usually involves the spleen, the pancreas or the kidneys. The sharp pains you've been feeling are due to the spasming of the blood vessel as it tries to control and stop the bleeding. Blood that has leaked outside of the blood vessels is very irritating to tissues, which is why you have swelling here, " Hershel motioned to Daryl's left side, "and it increases the pain. In your case I would guess your bleeding is being caused by a slow arterial leak near your left kidney. The fact that the blood you've been expelling is bright red indicates that it is arterial blood that you're losing. This is not good, son. Are you aware of the function of red blood cells in the body? "

"Ta carry the oxygen around ta the organs and tissues."

Hershel smiled and nodded. "Do you know your blood type? "

"O negative."

Hershel frowned. "That would be great if we needed you to give blood, but it's not so great when you're the one who needs it. Unfortunately your blood type is the universal donor. Anyone can receive O negative blood, but if you have O negative blood, that is the only type and Rh factor you can receive. If no one in the group has O negative blood, no transfusion will be possible."

"I need blood?"

Hershel sighed, "Yes, yes you do. "

Daryl bit his bottom lip and rubbed the star tattoo on his right hand with his left thumb.

After a moment he raised his eyes and met Hershel's. Hershel had never seen eyes so blue and for a second thought what a waste it was for a man to have such beautiful eyes.

"So what are my options," Daryl asked.

"Surgery is the only option, and even then, the mortality rate is close to 60%. The longer we wait, the higher the risk. I'm sorry. There is Epogen in the refrigerator. It is a drug used a lot in cancer patients. It stimulates the bone marrow to produce red blood cells. I'd like to give you a dose. It might help and it certainly can't hurt. If there isn't anyone with a compatible blood type available for a transfusion, we'll just have to go with IV fluids and Epogen and pray for the best."

Daryl sat back on the edge of the table. "What happens if I do nothin' at all? Is there a chance thaebleeding 'll stop on its own?"

Hershel shook his head. "No. If you do nothing at all, your tissues will eventually be starved for oxygen. You'll become very short of breath, your organs will shut down and you'll die. Before you reach that point, though, your lungs will probably have already been compromised and you will have asphyxiated, choked to death on your own blood. Not a pretty picture, I'm afraid, son."

Daryl smirked and gave Hershel a small smile. "So basically I'm damned if ah do and I'm damned if I don't."

"No, you're 100% damned if you don't, 60% damned if you do."

Daryl searched Hershel's face. Was he even competent to do this type of surgery, and moreover, did he even want to? "If I wanted Tao go through with tryin' Tao fix this, is this somethin' that you wanna do? Is this somethin' you think you _can_ do? 'Cause if you'd rather not or you don't feel comfortable doin' this, we won't, and if thats the case, I'm okay with that." Hell, we all have to die at some point.

Hershel patted Daryl's knee. "Of course I want to do this. Your life is important to all of us. I will do whatever I possibly can to help you. I've always appreciated your honesty and straightforwardness, even if your delivery is lacking polish. There are a lot of risks involved and I just want to be upfront about them. I'll be using Ether and administering it the old fashioned way. You'll be breathing it in and it will knock you unconscious for the duration of the surgery. I'll have someone monitoring your pulse while it's being administered. I have to warn you, though, that there is a risk of waking up during the surgery, but if you did, it would only be for a matter of seconds. You'd be put under again very quickly."

"How quick is 'very quickly'?"

"Within 20-30 seconds. There is also the risk of cardiac arrest."

Daryl nodded. "Whats tha recovery time after a surgery like this?"

"It depends, probably two weeks if it is just a vessel repair. If there is organ damage, the recovery time will be longer."

"And you're sure you wanna do this, Hershel?"

"Yes, yes I'm sure. I'm very hopeful, too, with the supplies and equipment here available it will make it much easier than it would be without them. "

"So when you wanna start?"

"As soon as possible. Have you had anything to eat today?"

"Had a big breakfast. "

"That's too bad. I would have wanted you to drink only fluids for 12 hours before surgery. " Hershel patted Daryl's knee again. " We'll manage. You might have some nausea though. I'll get Maggie and get prepared; you go and wash up, strip down and climb back up onto the table here."

"Strip down? I'm already down to my boxers."

"Strip down and we'll throw a sheet over your hips. I'll need to be monitoring your heart and I don't want clothes in the way when I'm making incisions and cleaning up blood."

Daryl grumbled. Shit, he was going to be totally naked and Maggie was going to be assisting?

Imaginary Merle laughed and made "Wooo hooo" noises.

* * *

Hershel stepped out of the med room and into the throng of people still examining the war room and now the living quarters side room as well.

Rick had been sitting in one of the office chairs at the long table under the bank of monitors and was going through a stack of papers. He looked up at Hershel. "How is he?"

Hershel shook his head. "He's bleeding internally and I need to get in there and repair the torn blood vessel."

Rick looked stunned. Internal bleeding?

Hershel continued,"This is a pure shot in the dark, but does anyone have O negative blood?"

Shane looked up from the map he was reviewing. "I do."

**Thus endeth chapter 23. In the immortal words of Bugs Bunny: "Ain't I a stinker?"**


	23. Chapter 23

Daryl had grabbed a sheet off a shelf stacked with washcloths, towels, sheets and scrubs and he'd unfolded it and draped it over the gurney before removing his boxers and folding them neatly and placing them on top of his other folded clothes. He quickly slid under the sheet and pulled it up so that it rested just under his nose.

He was hit with an overwhelming sense of modesty. This was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard of. Hell, if an incision needed to be made lower on his hip, what was so fuckin' hard about pulling a bit of elastic down a bit? It was bad enough that half the damned group had seen his scars, Maggie included, but this was ridiculous. Was nothing private?

'What the hell are you worried about? Do you think Hershel is going to take any chances on exposing his _daughter_ to the sight of your glorious manhood? Just fuckin' relax.'

Daryl stared at the ceiling and chewed his left thumbnail. This whole situation totally sucked. He would be out of commission for at least two weeks and how was he going to handle that? The group didn't need his hunting skills for a while as the freezers in the garage held plenty of meat, but being cooped up for that long would make him crazy. Well, crazier than he was already.

Hershel came in the door with a huge smile on his face and closed it behind him. "I'm going to set you up for a transfusion. We've got an O negative match for you. We'll do the transfusion pre-op in order to lessen the shock of any blood loss incurred during the surgery." He walked over to the refrigerator and pulled out a vial of clear liquid, then took a needle and syringe off one of the shelves and removed it from its sterile wrapper.

"Epogen," he said as he turned the vial upside down and inserted the needle into it, and then drew back on the plunger to fill the syringe. He grabbed and opened an alcohol wipe and moved next to Daryl, grasping his left arm. He swabbed a spot on Daryl's upper arm and administered the shot. "There." He said, smiling at Daryl. "I feel better all ready."

Daryl smirked. "Glad one a' us does."

"Maggie will be in soon to get an IV going and then when Shane gets here we'll get started."

"Shane?" Daryl sat up quickly, the sheet falling to his waist. "Why is Shane ..? Shit….no….no. _No_ fuckin' _way_. " Daryl shook his head.

Hershel sighed. "Son, do you know how fortunate you are that we were able to find someone else with O negative blood? It's damned near miraculous. Shane is strong and healthy enough so that if necessary, he could give more than the standard pint of blood and he is willing to do that. "

Daryl scowled and folded his arms in front of him over his chest. "_No way_. No way in _hell_ am I havin' that bastard's blood flowin' through my body. I'd rather fuckin' _die_."

Hershel was removing supplies from the shelves and was put out at how childish this man could be. "Oh you would not." He scoffed, his back to Daryl.

Daryl slid his legs over the edge of the gurney and pulled the sheet around his waist. He slid off the gurney, stood and grabbed his clothes off the shelf. He was getting the hell out of there. He had just yanked up his boxers when Hershel turned around, supplies in his arms.

"And just what do you think you're doing?"

"Leavin'."

"Oh, stop being ridiculous."

"Ih _ain't_ takin' any blood from that fuckin' _asshole_! I don't want a fuckin' _drop_ a' his _fuckin' blood_ in my fuckin' body!" Daryl put a foot into his jeans.

Hershel was astonished at the stubbornness Daryl Dixon displayed. Hershel thought it was matched only by the extent of Daryl's stupidity which was also now on display. The man would let pride lessen his chances of survival and well, that was just stupid.

Hershel now had a pretty good idea that Shane was responsible for Daryl's predicament. Why else would the man dislike Shane so much? The bruising over the arrow's wound site was such that he could tell that whoever Daryl had gotten into the altercation with had been specifically targeting the wounded area. The man had other bruises, but none so concentrated in one area and as dark and deep as the ones on his lower left side. Except, of course, the ones around his neck. Hershel now suspected that Shane was probably responsible for those as well.

"Okay, okay, let's not be too hasty." Hershel placed his supplies on the shelf next to the gurney Daryl had vacated. "If you feel so strongly about it, we'll go ahead with the IV fluids instead."

Daryl had just zipped up his jeans and he glanced at Hershel from under the hair in his face. "M' sorry, but I really would prefer that."

"As long as you're aware that you're taking a bigger risk than you would be by receiving a transfusion of blood. "

"I understand that."

Hershel sighed. "Okay. Now would you _please_ undress and get yourself back on the table?"

Daryl didn't say a word, but unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and folded them again, placing them once more on the shelf by the gurney.

Hershel was rummaging through another shelf and Daryl heard him exclaim, "Ah ha!" He felt bad for being such a dick, but dammit, Shane's blood? _Shane's? _No, he thought, he really _would_ rather die.

Hershel held up another small vial marked _Midazolam Injection_ and filled a syringe. He pushed the plunger until a small stream of the liquid was expelled from the needle and turned to Daryl. "This will prep you for the IV. It will help you to relax just a bit."

Daryl was sitting on the table, with his legs hanging off of it. He hadn't taken off his boxers and had decided that he wasn't going to again until he was specifically ordered to do so. "Same arm as before?" he asked Hershel.

"Yes, that's fine."

Hershel tore open another alcohol wipe package and wiped down a spot on Daryl's arm. He stabbed the needle into the muscle and depressed the plunger.

Daryl almost immediately was hit with a wave of dizziness. He suddenly felt sleepy and his limbs became heavy. The old bastard had tricked him. His eyes widened as he looked at Hershel's face and he could see kindness and pity there as Hershel quietly said, "I'm sorry, son, but it's for your own good."

Daryl struggled to stand up, even as Hershel grabbed his arm and tried to push him back down.

He pulled away from Hershel. Everything was swaying and he tried to speak, slurring his words, "Wha...wha'd you….d..do…to…me..ol'..."

Hershel caught Daryl by his left arm as Daryl lost consciousness and held his arm tight, keeping him from hitting the floor as his legs gave out under him. He wasn't strong enough to keep Daryl from collapsing, but he was able to hold him up enough to be able to slow Daryl's fall and to lower him onto his side on the floor. He grabbed Daryl's left wrist and checked his pulse. One of the nasty possible side effects of Midazolam, if given in one quick dose rather than spacing it out over the recommended two minutes, was cardiac arrest; but it didn't happen often. Daryl's pulse was strong and regular.

Hershel moved across the room and opened the med room door. He called to Maggie and Shane, then said to Rick, "Is there any chance I could grab another person? I'm going to need help monitoring Daryl's heart rate. "

Rick volunteered at the same time T-Dog did. It was decided that Rick would help out and T-Dog would give Glen the rest of the tour of "Looking Glass Base".

"What happened?" Rick asked as he and Shane lifted Daryl from the floor onto the table.

"He was being unreasonable and threatening to leave, so I injected him with a chemical restraint," Hershel explained as he opened a package of sterile surgical tools. "I didn't know he'd try to stand up after I'd administered it. It is pretty powerful and works almost immediately."

Shane nodded as he straightened out the redneck's legs on the table. "Chemical restraint, what a damned good idea."

Maggie pulled a chair up next to where Daryl lay and motioned for Shane to sit down. She then grabbed a plastic sterile package of tubing and opened it, laying it on Daryl's stomach. She turned Daryl's right arm so that the underside was facing up and tied a tourniquet on his upper arm with a piece of rubber tubing. She tapped her fingers across the inner bend of his arm and found what felt to be a nice, large vein, swabbed it with an alcohol swab and inserted an IV needle, taping it in place. She released the tourniquet and attached the tubing to the needle. Then she turned to Shane and pretty much repeated the process.

* * *

Shane watched all of this with mild interest. This was just too perfect. When Hershel had asked if anyone had O negative blood he could hardly believe it. He had pulled his old Red Cross blood donor card out of his wallet to show Rick and Hershel that his blood type was, indeed, O negative; giving them proof that he was totally on the up and up. Now he sat next to this piece-of-shit waste-of-air with his blood running into the scumbag's body. As far as everyone around him was concerned, he was saving the asshole's life. He smiled. Rick and the whole crew of idiots would be falling all over themselves to thank him and he'd be a hero. Good ol' Shane Walsh, savior of the worthless. Anything negative that Daryl had to say about him after that would make him look like an ungrateful asshole. Not that Dixon would care, but the others would.

Shane still planned on getting rid of the redneck. He hadn't changed his mind about that, no-siree, not one bit, but at the cost of a pint and possibly a bit more of his own blood, he was buying immunity from suspicion when the stupid redneck's dumb luck at surviving finally ran out.

Shane laughed to himself. Heck, he could probably cut the idiot's throat with a knife with "property of Shane Walsh" etched on it and leave it with a note saying he'd killed the asshole and the group would deny it. "Shane wouldn't do that, after all, he gave his own blood to Daryl and saved Daryl's life."

Maggie smiled at Shane. "Something funny?" she asked.

Shane smiled back at her. "Just remembering a funny incident, that's all."

He would be golden with everyone in the group. Well, everyone in the group except for Dale. Dale suspected him of everything. Even things he didn't do. T-Dog could be standing next to Dale and honk off the biggest, loudest, nastiest fart ever and Dale would blame it on Shane.

It took an hour to complete the procedure and then Maggie was disconnecting the transfusion tubing and Shane was free to go. Hershel told him to go get something to eat and to drink a lot of fluids and take it easy for the next few hours, at least.

Daryl hadn't moved throughout the entire procedure and Shane did notice that he didn't look quite so pale now.

Shane left the med room, closing the door quietly behind him.

He sat down at the bank of monitors and rifled through one of the many file folders that he and Rick had pulled from one of the filing cabinets under the long table. The file was marked "recruitment & personnel" and after glancing through it, Shane stuck it under his arm and left the room. He peeked in the folder a few more times as he made his way down the stairs and down the second floor hallway and then down the last flight of stairs. In the kitchen, Shane checked the cupboards and found a few unopened bags of chips. He grabbed the bag of Cool Ranch Doritos and checked the expiration date. Only a month ago. Not bad. He opened the freezer and pulled out a box of frozen chicken eggrolls and, after finding a plate in a different cupboard, he piled six of them on the plate and tossed it in the microwave. He whistled as he opened the refrigerator. He dug around in it a bit and found three cans of Dr. Pepper hiding in the back. He grabbed two of them and popped the tab on one of them as he waited for the eggrolls to finish heating up. He took a sip of the soda, then tilted it up and drank the whole thing. He got back into the refrigerator and grabbed the last can of Dr. Pepper.

He opened a couple of drawers looking for silverware. What was this? A book? It didn't look like it belonged in this drawer in the kitchen. Shane pulled it out and looked at the cover. "Guide to Choke Holds - How to Apply Them, How to Escape Them". Shane smirked. Someone was doing his homework.

The microwave dinged and Shane grabbed the plate of eggrolls out of it, cursing when it was hotter than he thought. He scooped up the cans of soda and tucking the file and the book under his arm, he strode out the front door onto the deck.

* * *

Hershel handed the stethoscope to Rick and Rick clipped it around his neck. Rick was standing at the head of the table on Daryl's right where Hershel had instructed him to stand. It would be his duty to administer the anesthetic to Daryl and to keep track of his heartbeat while he was under anesthesia. Hershel had asked Rick to don a pair of surgical gloves and had explained his part in this procedure to him.

This was surgery, the old fashioned way. Hershel had taken a clean and sterile sea sponge, about 3" in diameter and hollowed a small cave out the center, leaving a small wall of sponge at the back. He had placed a glass beaker half filled with a bluish clear liquid on the counter beside Rick and stuck the sponge into it. "This is ether." He had told Rick. "Don't handle it without gloves because it can be irritating to the skin. You need to soak the sponge and then wring it out, and then place it over the patient's nose, like a little mask. He breathes it in and it keeps him asleep. Now this is important. While you have the sponge over his nose, you must keep track of his heartbeat. If it starts to slow or becomes irregular, or stops…"

"_Stops_?" squeaked Rick.

"If it slows or becomes irregular or stops," Hershel repeated and continued, "you pull the sponge away immediately and you _tell_ _me_. Do you understand?"

"His heart might stop?" Rick had turned pale.

"It happens sometimes when using ether this way, but not often. If it does, CPR starts things right up again. I just don't want there to be any surprises." Hershel explained. "His heart rate will slow, you should expect that. When it does, just pull the sponge away and tell me. If he starts to show signs of awaking, place the sponge back over his nose. Ether evaporates quickly, so you will have to keep rewetting the sponge. Do you think you've got all that?"

Rick swallowed and nodded. "Yes."

"Okay then. I'm sure you'll do just fine. "

Hershel and Maggie had each tied surgical gowns on over their clothing. They each opened a package of sterile surgical gloves and slid them on and donned surgical masks.

Hershel pulled a small wheeled table over next to him with the sterile surgical tools on it and looked over to Maggie.

Maggie handed him a squeeze bottle of betadine and a small stack of gauze squares.

Hershel pulled the sheet covering Daryl down to just below his hip bones and squirted a stream of betadine the area of his bolt wound. He wiped the brownish liquid away with the small stack of gauze pads and then looked over at Rick.

"Okay, Rick, get that sponge in place. I'm going to make the first incision. "

Rick lifted the sponge partially out of the beaker and squeezed the excess fluid from it, then placed it over Daryl's nose and brought the stethoscope up to his chest.

Hershel carefully, almost daintily, picked up a scalpel and positioned it over and to the right of Daryl's bolt scar. He slipped the blade into the pale white flesh and drew it across and down, slicing through skin and connective tissue. Blood ran from both sides of the incision. There was minimal body fat, Hershel noted to himself without surprise as he called for Maggie's hands to wipe the blood away. He then called for her to hold back the flap of skin and fascia as he sliced through the abdominal muscles with the scalpel. They were thicker than usual and it took more effort and cutting than Hershel had expected to slice through them. "Retractors, Maggie."

Maggie placed the clamps on each side of the incision holding it open and soaked up the blood from the incision with gauze.

"How's our boy doing there, Rick?" Hershel asked from behind his surgical mask.

"So far, so good."

Hershel made the final cut through the peritonium and pulled the tissue back, opening the abdominal cavity. "Second set of retractors, Maggie." Maggie secured the open incision and Hershel explored the exposed abdominal cavity. There was a lot of blood pooling where no blood should be and he searched for the source of the arterial leak. It wasn't hard to find. The small artery feeding up to the left kidney was torn and that was fixable, but down lower it looked like it had almost been crushed or shredded and was bleeding profusely. Muscle and connective tissue around the area had died and the other surrounding tissues were swollen. Hershel soaked up what blood he could with a stack of gauze pads. "Saline rinse, please, Maggie. We really need to rinse this out well."

Maggie used a squirt bottle of sterile saline to aim a stream of the liquid into the abdominal cavity and cleaned the blood off.

Hershel cut away and removed some dead muscle and connective tissue. "Two small vascular clamps" he called to Maggie.

"Hershel," Rick interrupted, "his heartbeat is irregular, and I'm removing the sponge."

"Good, Rick, let me know when his heartbeat is normal. Maggie, two small vascular clamps?"

Maggie handed Hershel the clamps and he clamped off the crushed section of the small artery. He cut the damaged section completely out and placed it in a basin on the table.

"#26 needle?" Hershel put his gloved hand out in anticipation of Maggie's response to his request.

Maggie placed the threaded, curved surgical needle into his hand.

"Hershel", it was Rick, "something's not right here. I took the sponge away and now his heart rate is speeding up."

A spasm rocked Daryl's body and Hershel raised his eyes to Rick, "Speeding up? Get that sponge on him, now!"

Daryl groaned and shifted. Rick squeezed the excess fluid out of the sponge and turned to Daryl. Daryl's eyes fluttered and he sucked in a breath then moaned. Rick dropped the sponge. Daryl's breath hitched in his chest and he started to move his hands, clenching and unclenching them.

"Maggie, get a shot of Midazolam ready just in case, _stat_! Good God, _Rick_, the sponge, he's waking up, dammit!" Hershel quickly withdrew his hands from Daryl's incision.

"I can't find it."

"_You what_? Hold his hands, hold his hands! Restrain his arms! _Maggie! We need that shot, now!_" Hershel shouted as Daryl started trying to push Hershel's hands away.

Daryl stiffened and clenched his teeth. He grabbed Rick's arm and Rick looked into Daryl's eyes as they flew open. They were wild with confusion, fear and pain.

"Stop…..stop….jus' stop. Please…..please make it stop." Daryl started reaching wildly, trying to grasp his open incision.

Rick grabbed Daryl's arms and pinned them to his chest.

Daryl's body spasmed and he cried out. "_Please_, just _stop_. It 'urts….it hurts so much. Please ….._please_.. " Tears filled the corners of his eyes and he closed them tight and grit his teeth against the pain.

"It's going to be alright Daryl," Rick said, trying to sound soothing.

"_Maggie_!"

"I can't find it."

"What is going on? Is everything just up and disappearing?"

"Y'all are... killin' me…_Y'all are killin' me_! " Daryl cried. He fought and twisted as Rick held him down.

"Stop ….just fuckin' shoot me." He was begging. 'Please….I _can'_t..._take_ it. Don't.. don't...why y'all gotta do…. _this_…don't…I know I ain't no good... ..." He was sobbing now, the tears running down the side of his face and his chest hitching as his body shook with pain, "God, please...can't ...stand...it...please...just fuckin'.. the gun...I need...the gun... _Please_!?" he cried.

Rick couldn't stand seeing Daryl in so much pain. Daryl hadn't expressed that he was in any sort of pain when he'd come back wounded after falling down a ravine and impaling himself on an arrow during his search for Sophia. Now he was in such agony that he was begging for death to release him from the pain. Rick couldn't begin to imagine the pain. He glanced down and saw the damned sponge. It was underneath a fold in the sheet and he shoved it into the beaker and squeezed it out and then stuffed it into Daryl's face.

Daryl twisted his head and thrashed and tried to pull Rick's hand away, all the while pleading with Rick to shoot him. Rick held the ether soaked sponge in place; even as Daryl shook his head to get away from it, Rick's hand moved with him. After a few seconds, Daryl's actions slowed and his curses and pleas faded. His eyes glazed over, then closed. His hand fell away from Rick's and his body relaxed.

Rick sighed and pressed his hand against Daryl's chest. "Thank God." He sighed.

Hershel shook his head. "I still need to irrigate his abdominal cavity and stitch this small artery. I've already removed what necrotic tissue I can. Rick, please make sure that sponge is handy."

"Yeah, I'm really sorry about that Hershel." Rick felt extremely embarrassed.

"Don't apologize to me," Hershel snorted. "You don't owe me an apology; but I think you owe Daryl one. I can't begin to imagine the pain he was feeling."

Rick sighed. He already felt guilty enough. Did Hershel have to rub it in?

Hershel reattached the arteriole, having cut out the damaged section and after cleaning the abdominal cavity up as well as he could, he stitched up the peritoneum and then the muscles, and the fascia and skin. He had done the surgery with minimal blood loss, in spite of his patient's "surprise visit" and he was feeling confident about Daryl's chances for recovery.

Hershel went to clean himself up and Maggie said she'd take care of cleaning up the surgical supplies.

Rick agreed to sit with Daryl until he woke up and was given a bottle of Oramorph with strict instructions to give the man a dose the minute he awoke.

* * *

Hershel walked down the stairs and had just stepped onto the first floor in the great room when he saw Shane coming in the front door.

"How is he?" Shane asked.

Hershel smiled and waved his hand, "Oh, I think he's going to be just fine. He's a fighter, that one; and Shane, what you did was commendable. I know there's no love lost between you and Daryl and I'm impressed that you stepped up for him like you did. You're a good man, Shane Walsh."

Shane was going to say something cute and expected like "oh, he'd have done the same for me." But he couldn't force himself to spit the bullshit out, so he just said, "Thanks, Hershel, that means a lot coming from you."

Hershel patted Shane on the arm and headed for the kitchen hoping to grab a pint of ice cream and to sit on the deck in the sun and enjoy it.

Shane listened and looked up the stairs. When he was sure no one was watching him, he slipped into Daryl's room and closed the door.

**I must say I've been ecstatic about your reviews. I think being called an evil, vile woman was my favorite! Love you all! **


	24. Chapter 24

Shane locked the door behind him. The last thing he wanted was to be caught snooping around in Daryl's room. _Daryl's room_. If the asshole had any sense of decency, he would have offered the room to Rick and Lori. The room was huge. Shane tossed the file and the book he was carrying onto the dresser and walked over to the head of the king sized bed. At least the scumbag had made it up. Shane was disgusted to see all the pillows at the head of the bed. Last he had known, Dixon slept in a tent on a rock hard cot and didn't even have a pillow and now he had taken the biggest room in the house with the biggest bed and how many pillows? Shane counted. Seven. Shane felt the anger rising up in him. No one needed seven damned pillows, especially the piece of shit hillbilly that had claimed this room.

Shane reached to pull open the top drawer of the nightstand and paused when something caught his eye. The corner of the nightstand closest to the bed was cracked and stained red. There was a small clump of something stuck on it and a few long, brownish blond hairs waved from where they were imbedded in the cracked wood. Shane then noticed the reddish brown stain on the beige carpet. He smiled and whispered to himself, "awww….did poor widdle Daywal get a boo boo?" He smirked and opened the top drawer of the nightstand.

Shane smiled as he pulled out the two prescription bottles and the bottle of Tylenol. He read the labels on the orangish tan bottles. Oxycodone. Morphine. He was right. The redneck was a druggie, an addict. He has suspected as much. He would be doing everyone a favor by getting rid of Dixon. Who knew what he might be capable of when he was all strung out on oxy or morphine? Who was to say that he wouldn't go off the deep end and try to harm one of them, or all of them?

Shane went into the bathroom and opened the linen cabinet. He searched through the shelf with the medications on it, pushing aside the fiber pills, the cold medicine and the stomach acid neutralizers. He found the aspirin and grabbed the bottle. It was more than half full of 325mg tablets. Shane took the bottle into the bedroom and sat down at the head of the bed. He dumped the aspirin tablets out and then grabbed the bottle of Oxycodone. He dumped those out in a separate pile. He smiled. They did look rather similar. He poured the aspirin into the oxycodone bottle and the oxycodone tablets into the aspirin bottle. He did the same switch with the Tylenol and the morphine tablets. Shane was sure that this wouldn't cause much harm if Daryl took the wrong pills, although aspirin could cause internal bleeding in post-surgical patients and if Daryl took two morphine tablets, thinking they were Tylenol, well, that could fuck him up nicely. He returned the pills to their places in the nightstand and the aspirin bottle to the linen cabinet.

Daryl's crossbow was leaning against the chair by the closet and Shane walked over and sank into the chair. He reached for the crossbow and brought it up, setting it across his lap and looked it over. He did have to admit that the redneck took damned good care of his weapons. The bow was clean and freshly oiled and the strings had recently been waxed. A smile played about Shane's lips and he leaned the crossbow against the chair again and fumbled to reach into the right front pocket of his pants. He felt around and withdrew a jackknife. Flipping the small blade open, he reached for the crossbow and set it on his lap again.

Shane traced the strings with his fingers. He had to do this just right or he'd snap the string and lose the element of surprise. He tilted the bow and brought up the knife blade to the string where it met the cam and notched it. Just a bit, not enough to go through, but enough to weaken it. He rubbed the notched string between his fingers to spread wax over it. He didn't want any frayed edges showing. Shane smiled. Hopefully the string would hold when the arrow was set, but if it didn't, well, that was okay too. The crossbow would be put out of commission either way, hopefully just as a walker was bearing down on its owner. Shane stood the bow up against the chair where he had found it.

He thought he heard someone outside the door and froze.

The doorknob turned and Glenn's voice called through the door, "Anyone in there?"

Shane sat quietly and didn't say a word. The doorknob rattled and Shane grinned, grateful that he'd had enough foresight to lock the door. He heard Glenn's footsteps on the hardwood floor in the hall as he walked away.

What the hell was Glenn doing, anyway, trying to get into Daryl's room? Didn't he know that Daryl would probably go ape-shit if he knew that Glenn had been in there? Daryl didn't allow anyone in his tent and he didn't like anyone touching his belongings. Why would Glenn think it was okay to go into his room?

Shane stood up and quietly walked over to inspect the Ruger Blackhawks on the dresser. He held one up and turned it over in his hands. It was a beautiful pistol. He popped out the cylinder. The gun was loaded. He read the serial number engraved on the side of the barrel, then held up the twin Blackhawk and noticed the serial numbers were consecutive. These were so nice and not inexpensive. Where had the dirtbag gotten them from? At least he was keeping them clean and oiled. He thought of sabotaging them, messing with the inside of the barrel or the firing mechanism so the damned things would explode in Daryl's hands, but no, they were too nice to ruin. Shane decided then and there that he was laying claim to these two babies the minute Dixon was six feet in the ground.

"Shane? " Shit. It was Rick and he was just outside the door in the hallway. "Hey, Glenn, have you seen Shane? "

Shane grabbed the folder and the book off the dresser and inched his way over to the door and put his ear near it.

"No. Did you check the back yard? I thought I heard him say something about checking out the garden."

"I'll take a look. You wanna come with me?"

"Sure, why not?"

Shane waited until he heard Glenn's and Rick's footsteps fade as they went from the hall into the great room and then into the dining room. He quickly opened the door and closed it behind him, checking to make sure it hadn't locked, then walked through the great room and made his way out onto the deck.

He sat at the patio table and slid the book inside the folder and looked out over the lake.

This was a beautiful house in a beautiful spot and Shane smiled. This would be a perfect place to settle into. If he was lucky and cunning enough, he might be able to arrange things so that both Daryl and Rick disappeared. Wouldn't that be great? Then things would be like they were, and he'd have Lori and Carl and the leadership of the group back. He and Lori would share that big master suite and things would be as they should be. He chuckled at the thought. He could actually do this! It would take thought and planning, but it was certainly doable.

Shane sat back in the cushioned patio chair and relaxed. He noticed he was a bit tired and figured it must be from giving up a pint of blood to help out Daryl Douchebag. He closed his eyes and listened to the pines whisper in the wind and without expecting to, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

T-Dog ran his thumb across the top of Daryl's right hand as he held it in his big hand. He was sitting on Daryl's right side as Daryl slept. Occasionally, T-Dog would take the end of the stethoscope around his neck and put it to Daryl's chest and listen. Daryl's heartbeat was strong and slow and Hershel had said that that was perfect. T-Dog had relieved Rick about half an hour earlier and was happy to be sitting with Daryl and checking to make sure the other man was okay. He ran the fingers of his left hand along Daryl's forehead and his hairline, and occasionally through his hair. His mother had done that when he was a child whenever he had been sick and he remembered how nice it felt and how comforting it was.

Hershel had been extremely happy with the results of the surgery, saying it was pretty straight forward and had gone better than he had thought; with the only surprise being that Daryl woke up while his incision was wide open and his abdominal cavity was exposed. It could have been disastrous, but Rick had held him down well enough until he could be sedated again so that no damage was done. Hershel had started an antibiotic IV and had been coming in every fifteen minutes to check on Daryl.

T-Dog was stroking Daryl's hair when Hershel came in a moment later. He was carrying a small electric Wahl clipper and smiled at T-Dog and raised his eyebrows.

"You want to give me a hand?"

"Sure," T-Dog pulled his left hand away from Daryl's head. "What's up?"

"He's got a nasty gash on his head, it's started to heal, but it's going to leave a nasty scar and it's prone to infection until it does heal. I want to put a few stitches in there while I've got the chance to."

Hershel set the clippers down at Daryl's head and started rummaging around on one of the shelves with medications. "Here we go." He laid two small bottles and two wrapped syringes down near the clippers and then hummed as he approached the sink. He continued to hum as he filled an emesis basin with warm water and placed it on the small metal wheeled table along with a bottle of betadine and one of hydrogen peroxide.

T-Dog watched as Hershel grabbed a couple of towels and washcloths off the linen shelf and set them on the little metal table. Hershel unwrapped the syringe and held one of the little bottles upside down. He stabbed the needle into it and withdrew some fluid, then pulled the needle out and came around to where T-Dog sat.

"I'm just going to inject this into the IV." Hershel explained as he injected the needle into the little branched IV port.

"What does that do?"

"Keeps him comfortable. I just want to warn you, what I'm going to be doing in order to stitch his head wound might look a bit..um…what is the word I'm looking for here….disgusting? No…gross. There it is …it might look a bit gross. "

"Gross?"

Hershel made his way back around to the other side of the gurney, unwrapped the other needle and took the second bottle and filled the syringe with liquid. "Yes," he explained. "I have to debride the wound first…remove the scab.. and clean the wound. I'm going to inject a bit of anesthetic around the wound. It's pretty deep and I'm not sure our patient would want me doing this, but it will heal much better and quicker and with much less chance of infection this way.

Hershel injected the local anesthesia in two spots, one on each side of the gash in Daryl's head. He then readied his surgical needle and placed it on the little table. "Could you help me here a bit?" he asked T-Dog.

"Sure, what do you want me to do?"

Hershel grabbed two towels from the table. "Could you lift his head so I can slide the pillow out and get these towels under him?"

T-Dog did as he was asked and Hershel pulled the pillow out and smoothed the towels out before T-Dog laid Daryl's head back down.

"There, now we need to roll him onto his right side a bit and I'll put a pillow behind his back to help hold him there."

"I got it" said T-Dog. He gently placed one of his big hands on Daryl's left hip below his incision and one just below his left shoulder and rolled Daryl towards him. Daryl didn't flinch or move in any way and T-Dog moved Daryl's left hand off from where it had fallen onto the bandage over his incision and straightened his arm out in front of him towards T-Dog.

"Very good," Hershel praised as he tucked the pillow behind Daryl's back to keep him on his right side.

Hershel then reached into his pocket and pulled out several bobby pins and a comb.

It was T-Dog's turn to raise his eyebrows.

Hershel started combing Daryl's hair away from the wound and then pinned a piece of his hair over with a bobby pin, then another piece on the other side was pinned over until Daryl had five bobby pins pinning his long hair away from the wound. "I had to borrow these from Maggie."

T-Dog watched this, totally fascinated. He bit his lower lip as he watched Hershel comb and then pin Daryl's hair aside. He noted that Hershel hummed and smiled as he did this and wondered if he'd ever combed and pinned Maggie or Beth's hair this way and he burst out laughing.

Hershel looked up at him, still smiling.

T-Dog shook his head, "He would so _kill you_ if he knew you were putting barrettes in his hair! Damn, I should get a photo of this. This week in Cosmo magazine 'Rough and tough Daryl Dixon's secrets to beautiful hair'. "

T-Dog and Hershel both laughed. Daryl slept blissfully through their teasing.

Hershel took the clippers and shaved an area about a half an inch wide around Daryl's head wound,

"Man, he's not gonna like that!" T-Dog shook his head.

"He won't even see it. He's got plenty of hair to cover it up and I need to have the wound clear of hair around it. Now you might not want to watch this part." It was too late and T-Dog cringed as Hershel grabbed onto the edge of the scab and pulled it off. Only part of it tore free and he tossed it onto the metal table. T-Dog noticed it was mostly dried blood and hair. The gash started bleeding. Hershel poured peroxide onto the wound and it bubbled and foamed and he wiped it with the washcloth. He continued to clean it out with peroxide and warm water and picked an pulled until he had removed all of the scab. He held gauze against the wound to absorb the blood and then applied betadine and dried it off as best he could.

"How's his heart rate?" He asked T-Dog as he started to stitch up the wound.

T-Dog put the stethoscope to Daryl's chest. "Sounds good and steady."

"Excellent," Hershel worked quickly and stitched the ragged edges together. He stopped every so often to swab away blood that still wept from the cut. Once he was done stitching, he placed a small bandage over the wound. Hershel took the bobby pins out of Daryl's hair, making sure he got all of them. The last thing he wanted was to face Daryl's wrath if he found one left in his hair. Hershel knew he was already going to be at the top of the hunter's shit-list for giving him the Midazolam injection and allowing the blood transfusion to go forward against his will.

Hershel removed the towels from the bed and slid the pillow out from behind Daryl's back. T-Dog helped to arrange Daryl so he was on his back again and lifted Daryl's head so Hershel could put the pillow back under him.

"I'll sit with him, son, if you'd like a break."

"No, no, I'm good. I don't mind being in here with him. "

Hershel raised his eyebrows again. The big man had taken Daryl's right hand in his and was stroking the top of it with his thumb.

"Okay, I'm going to go downstairs. Rick said something about checking out some frozen meat to take home."

Hershel closed the door behind him and T-Dog was left alone in the room with Daryl.

T-Dog brushed the hair out of Daryl's face and traced one of his eyebrows with his thumb. What was that? He pulled his hand away and leaned in to get a closer look at the scar he had just discovered. It started in Daryl's left eyebrow and T-Dog could see a small ridge it created, then it ran along under the eyebrow for the full length of it. It was smooth and white and there were small dots on each side of it where the small holes created by stitches had scarred, too. There was another scar, thin and almost unnoticeable that ran halfway down the left side of Daryl's nose.

T-Dog had seen the scars on Daryl's back and chest and it grieved and angered him to imagine what kind of suffering the man had been subjected to. The largest of the scars and the one that bothered T-Dog the most, was a long wide raised gash that began just at the hunter's collarbone on the right and dipped slightly downward and across his chest. It was over a foot long and was reddish brown. It was obvious that it had been caused by a knife or some other sharp object.

"No wonder you're usually such a defensive jerk," T-Dog said quietly as he resumed stroking Daryl's hand with his thumb.

* * *

Rick looked out across the lake, then back at the faces of the others seated around the patio table. Glenn, Maggie, and Hershel blinked back at him.

Shane was speaking and what he was saying was quite interesting.

Shane tapped the folder in front of him. "NDBH stands for National Defense Biological Hazard division. They're a branch of the military trained to survive and re-establish government in the event that a biological hazard or event decimates the population and the infrastructure comes down."

Rick put his head in his hands. "Wouldn't it be more likely that a terrorist attack or a nuclear bomb would cause the loss of population and infrastructure?"

"Probably, and I'm sure there's probably some secret branch of the military with some silly acronym that was geared to step up if something like that happens, but the cleanup of this zombie virus mess belonged to this group. They were to take over and install martial law if something like this happened." He paused and took a sip from the can of Dr. Pepper in front of him.

"There is a network of bases, each one housing top military officers and a cache of weapons, food, medicine and other supplies necessary. This house is one of three Georgia bases. It belonged to General George Richardson of the US Marines and one of the top officers in the NDBH division. He lived here with his family and five other officers. The plan was for other troops to mobilize if an emergency event occurred and to meet at the bases. All the bases are off the grid and according to the information in here," he tapped the file folder again. "There is a series of underground rooms off the basement behind a thin wall of cement. These rooms have enough food, water and medical supplies to last a group of fifty for three years."

Glenn sat back in his chair. "Wow. That is just totally..wow. So where are all the people who are supposed to be here?"

Shane sat back in his chair. "Daryl had a run in with a few walkers in military garb yesterday morning and apparently there was a guy in military attire that they'd taken down. Daryl had seen what he thought was a flashlight in the woods the night before and went to check the area out. I'm not sure, but it seems that at least some of the bases were overrun. That would explain the map in the war room (shit, was he actually using Dixon's term for that room?) with the names of some of the bases crossed out and 'dead' written next to them. I think, though, that we need to assume that others might try to make their way here."

"But it's been months!" Glenn exclaimed. "If someone was coming, wouldn't they be here by now?"

"You would think so, but the guy Daryl found, the guy with the flashlight….it looks like he had just shown up..and who knows, maybe he was scouting out for a larger group."

Glenn took off his baseball cap and scratched his head. "So what do we do?"

Shane looked at Rick and Rick spoke. "I think we need to get everyone here and established in this place as soon as possible. We certainly have enough weapons and ammo to defend the place." He nodded toward Hershel, "Of course, we'll finish up bringing in enough wood for winter and getting the hay in, but I think it's crucial to start moving people in."

"Rick, you don't need to finish bringing in wood or to worry about the haying.." Hershel began.

"No, no, Hershel." Shane spoke up. "It's our pleasure and I enjoy doing wood. It won't take more than a couple of days and if we all work together, we can have the hay in for you in no time. It's the least we can do considering all you've done for us."

Rick smiled. Now this was more like the old Shane.

"T-Dog will be staying tonight and I'd like to bring a couple of people over tomorrow. Hershel? You and Shane check out the freezers in the garage, you can pick out some meat to take back to the farm."

"Would that be alright with Daryl?" Hershel asked.

Shane scoffed. "Alright with Daryl? What the hell difference does it make? Rick is the group leader and what he says is what matters."

Hershel looked a little uneasy, but he nodded and Rick motioned for him to follow him into the house.

* * *

Daryl's breath quickened slightly as he slowly regained consciousness. The incision site was painful but that isn't what got his attention. Someone was holding his hand. He could feel someone's hand around his right one and a soft touch as someone's finger glided back and forth across the top of his hand. It actually felt kind of nice, comforting in a way. He hadn't opened his eyes and started to fall back into the depths of sleep when he felt another odd sensation. Someone's was touching his head. He felt fingers massaging the top of his head and combing through his hair and then, holy shit, someone was_ petting_ his head, like he was a dog or something. His eyes flew open and he hauled his right hand away from the one that held his and grabbed at the one petting his head. "_What the fuck_?!"

T-Dog stared back at him, a look of complete surprise on his face.

Daryl looked more surprised. "Good Lord, T, you gay 'r somethin'?"

"_No_! Of course not. I was just….just…when I was a kid…."

"Yeah yeah, just don't fuckin' touch me, 'k?" Daryl shifted in the bed and moved towards the edge. "Now wherez Hershel? I got some things I wanna say ta 'im and they ain't too nice." He swung his legs over the side of the table and sat up. As he put his feet on the floor and started to stand, a sharp pain tore through this head and he gasped. T-Dog grabbed him as the pain overwhelmed him and he collapsed.

T-Dog stood, holding Daryl's limp body close to his and hoisted him up and laid him back on the gurney. "Dammit, Dixon, can't you just be a good boy and stay in bed?"

He put the stethoscope to the hunter's chest and listened. The heartbeat was fast, but regular. T-Dog knew that the sensation of pain would cause an increase in heart rate, so he wasn't concerned. He pushed Daryl's hair out of his face and took his right hand in his again, running his thumb along the top of Daryl's hand. Daryl had saved his ass twice and he wouldn't have dreamed of being anywhere but here for hunter, whether he wanted him there or not.


	25. Chapter 25

Hershel entered the med room, fully prepared to be on the receiving end of one of Daryl's tantrums. He was going to disconnect the antibiotics IV and once the hollering and cussing was done, instruct Daryl to take the oral antibiotics he would leave him with every six hours. He was slightly surprised to find Daryl was still sleeping.

"Has he been awake at all?" he asked T-Dog as T-Dog reached over to hand Hershel the stethoscope. Hershel put it around his neck. He brought the stethoscope up and placed it against Daryl's chest. His heartbeat was strong and steady.

"Yeah, about ten minutes ago he woke up. He was in a real snit, gave me hell for touching him and then tried to march on out of here so he could chew you a new asshole." T-Dog's hand flew up to his mouth as the vet raised his eyebrows when he said 'asshole'. "Sorry."

"It's okay, son, we've all been under more stress than usual today and these things tend to slip out. I just need to desensitize myself to it a bit more. As long as I don't start hearing words like that coming out of my daughters' mouths with any regularity, I should be just fine." He motioned to Daryl, "So how did you convince him to settle down?"

"I didn't. He got out of the bed and stood up and passed out. His heart rate sped up a bit, but I figured that was to be expected. It slowed back down in a couple of minutes. "

"Oh for heaven's sake. He didn't hit his head again did he? "

"Nah, I had hold of him. Damn, he's a stubborn motherfucker." T-Dog's hand flew to his mouth again, his eyes wide as he looked at Hershel to gauge the reaction to his slip.

Hershel winced at the profanity and bent over Daryl, pulling the sheet down to expose the bandaged incision. Blood had seeped through the top bandage and Hershel pulled another large gauze pad from the small stack of them Maggie had left on the small metal table with the bandage tape and the bottle of betadine.

Hershel removed the bloody bandage and checked the incision. It was still seeping blood and he wiped it away and swabbed it with betadine. He replaced the gauze bandage and taped it in place. "This should be okay until tomorrow. I'll have Maggie change it then." Hershel then checked the bandage on Daryl's head wound. There was no blood on it and it was dry.

Hershel then prepared a small bandage with a couple of small squares of gauze and a piece of bandage tape. He moved over near T-Dog and T-Dog moved out of the way. Hershel took the nearly empty IV bag off the pole it hung on, gathered up the tubing and pulled the tape off where it held the needle in Daryl's arm. He then gently withdrew the needle. A rush of blood followed it as it slid free of Daryl's arm and Hershel pressed the gauze squares against it for about a minute, replaced the bloody squares with new ones, then taped them in place. He moved back to Daryl's left side and placed the IV bag and tubing into a trash can.

Hershel then grasped Daryl's right shoulder and shook it gently. "Daryl? I need to you to wake up." There was no response from the man, so Hershel shook him a bit harder. "Come on, son, I need to talk to you and I'm sure you've got plenty that you want to say to me. " There was still no response from Daryl.

T-Dog reached over and slapped Daryl across the left side of his face. Hard.

Daryl jumped and his eyes flew open, "What the _fuck_?" his voice was confused and angry and he brought his left hand up to his reddening face where he had just been slapped. His head cleared and he glared at Hershel. "Did you just fuckin' _hit _me? "

"I did," T-Dog confessed, "Just waking you up for the good doctor." T-Dog smiled and Daryl fixed his angry glare on him.

He then turned his head and glared again at Hershel, who was wearing a big dopey grin.

Hershel certainly hadn't expected the big man to slap the hunter, but it had done the job. The hunter was now wide awake. Hershel secretly wished he'd had the nerve to do that. God knows there were times lately where he would have liked to give Daryl Dixon a good, sound smack across the face. Hershel had also never heard anyone cuss like Daryl Dixon did in his whole life. He had given up trying to act disgusted whenever the hunter dropped the f-bomb because his face would have been in a state of constant contortions.

"I got a few bones to pick with you." Daryl told Hershel as he narrowed his eyes at him and intensified his glare.

"Pick away," invited Hershel. "but when you're done, I need to talk to you about these antibiotics," he shook a bottle of pills at Daryl. "and getting you up and moving around a little. "

"I can't believe you went ahead an' fuckin' _forced_ me to take fuckin' Walsh's blood!" Daryl yelled.

"I didn't hear you complaining during the transfusion." Hershel replied calmly, daring to poke the bear.

" 'Course I din't complain, I fuckin' _couldn't_! An what the _hell_ was in that shot you gave me?! Just ain't right, whatcha done there! It ain't right." He took a breath and continued with his tirade. "An' Lord, y'all it felt like you was _tearin'my guts out_ with a rusty spoon! What th' fuck 's that all about?! Never felt nothin' so fuckin' _painful_ in my life!"

Hershel nodded, he agreed. Daryl probably never had felt anything so painful in his life. He bit his tongue to keep from smiling as the grumpy man continued to bawl him out.

Daryl was getting louder. "I ain't _never_ lettin' you touch me agin! Ain't _never_!" He turned to T-Dog, "an' _you_! You need to keep yer _hands_ to _yourself_. You don't be touchin' me 'less I say you can and I ain't _never_ gonna say you can!"

T-Dog gave Daryl a "who me?" look of surprise and said in a soothing voice, "I never touched you, you must have imagined it."

Daryl closed his eyes and leaned back into his pillow, "Oh, fuck you, ya did too an' you know it. I woke up and you're bein' all creepy like an' pettin' my head like I'm a fuckin' dog. Don't know what your deal is, don't rightly care, but don't fuckin' touch me again."

The room was silent for about thirty seconds but it seemed a lot longer when Hershel finally spoke up. "Are you through, now?"

Daryl cracked an eye open and looked at him. "Said what I wanted to say." he grumbled.

"Alright then. I've removed the IV and you'll need to take two of these pills every six hours. They'll keep you from getting an infection. " He shook the bottle at Daryl again. "It is imperative that you take these pills and that you don't miss a dose. Do you understand that, son?"

"Yeah, I got it." Daryl grumbled.

"I'll take those, " T-Dog reached over Daryl to take the pills from Hershel. "I can make sure he gets them every six hours."

"Ain't you leavin' soon?" Daryl sounded irritated.

"Nope. Staying here with you tonight. I thought we could pop some popcorn, watch a movie, talk, maybe have a pillow fight."

"Great, an' let's polish each other's nails an' giggle n' swap stories 'bout how we lost our virginity. No fuckin' way man. Don't want no comp'ny tonight."

"Well that's just too bad." Hershel said stiffly. "Someone needs to be here to make sure you're all right. At least for a few days."

"Don't need no babysitter." Daryl grumped.

Hershel put up his hands as if in surrender. "Okay, okay. I just have one question. What happened about fifteen minutes ago? As I understand it, you were going to come looking for me but didn't quite make it a step away from this table. Would you please explain to me what happened?"

Daryl shot T-Dog a glare that dripped icicles. "Suspect you already know."

"So what caused it? Was it the pain? "

"Reckon so. Sort a snuck up an' hit hard. Weren't ready for it."

"Was it at the incision site, or your head?"

"My head."

"Because you moved too fast. The anesthesia takes a little while to work its way out of your system. You shouldn't be attempting any rapid movements for a while. Now if you'd fallen on the floor and cracked your head open…_again_….and no one was here, you'd be in a world of hurt, son, so just humor the old horse doc and let someone stay with you tonight. " What Hershel didn't tell Daryl was that it was the Midazolam shot he'd given Daryl that took a while to work out of his system, not the ether.

" Fine, fine. If'n y'all 'll get the hell off my case. But I ain't stayin' in this room. I wanna be in my own room."

T-Dog frowned. "You can't make it down two flights of stairs to first floor." He looked at Hershel for back up, "Can he?"

"I'd wait at least a couple of hours before I tried that, but with some assistance, I don't see why not. I want you to start getting up and walking around a bit tomorrow. If you're in bed too much, it can cause pneumonia and we don't want that. You need to remember to take those antibiotic pills, though, and I gave Rick some painkillers for you."

"I've got them right here." T-Dog patted his pants pocket.

"Oh, and Daryl?" Hershel asked, "I was told that I could take some meat from the freezers in the garage. Is that okay with you, son?"

Daryl scoffed, "Ain't mine to say so, but if I was you, I'd help myself. "

Hershel smiled, "thank you. We're heading out soon so I'll see you tomorrow or Maggie will. "

Daryl nodded and Hershel left the room.

Daryl sat up and scooted to the edge of the bed.

"And just what do you think you're doing now?" T-Dog asked with a touch of amusement.

"Gotta take a piss an' I don't need an audience."

"I'll walk you to the door."

"I'm fine an' I don't need you comin' in with me to hold my dick for me or nothin' while I piss. Just back th' hell off."

T-Dog smiled. Damn, Daryl Dixon could be a real pain in the ass.

"I'll just follow behind you and no, I won't come into the bathroom with you."

T-Dog followed Daryl as he shuffled into the small bathroom to the left of the refrigerator that held the heat sensitive medications.

Daryl stepped into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. He emerged several minutes later.

"Did you wash your hands?" T-Dog teased.

"You my momma? Let's go. I wanna get downstairs."

"Hershel said to wait…"

"Yeah, yeah, I don't wanna wait. I'm feelin' okay now an' I don't like this room."

"Hey T-Dog, Daryl." Rick stood in the med room doorway. "You okay, Daryl?"

Daryl wished he was standing there in something more than just his boxers. "I'm good."

Rick smiled. "We're heading out now. Daryl, I was wondering if you'd like us to take one of the windows out of your bedroom and make an entry out of it so you can go in and out that way, you know, without having to go through the house to the kitchen. " He wanted to add 'since I know how uncomfortable we all make you,' but he thought better of it.

"I can just go in an' out the window when I'm better. It ain't no big deal."

"Well you think about it, okay? You all set, T-Dog?"

"I'm just fine. You guys have a safe trip back."

"Will do. See you guys tomorrow." Rick smiled at the two men and waved as he left the room.

The walk down to Daryl's room wasn't so bad after all. Daryl went slowly, just a few stairs at a time and it took all of ten minutes before he was standing in the doorway of his room.

"So where am I supposed to sleep?" asked T-Dog as he looked around the bedroom. "The bed is big enough for both of.."

"No way in _hell_ are you sleepin' in the same bed as me. No way in _hell_." Daryl snarled.

T-Dog had expected that reaction and had just been teasing. "The couch out here looks very comfortable. I can sleep there. Are you hungry? I can fix us something to eat."

"I'm good for now, but help yourself to whatever you want. There's food out in the garage in the freezers, too, if you can't find nothin' you like. Keys on the key rack by the back door."

T-Dog smiled as he remembered the ice cream in the freezer in the kitchen.

"Thanks, man. I am pretty hungry."

"An' I'm fuckin' beat. Feel like an ol' man." Daryl's left side had started to ache on his way down the stairs an now it was throbbing. "Gonna grab a glass a water an' take one a them pain pills an' lie down for a bit."

"I've got the pills right here, and here, let me get you a glass of water. "

"Just put 'em on the dresser an' I can get it myself."

T-Dog moved past Daryl into the bathroom and filled the glass next to the sink with cold water.

"I tol' you.."

"Just shut up and let me help you a bit, okay?"

Daryl sighed. "You don't hafta, you know."

"I want to. You need to let people help you once in a while. You saved my ass twice and you didn't have to. I was pretty sure you hated me, but you don't do you?"

"You and Rick, y'all saved my ass. I'd say that makes us even. An' hate's a purty strong word. Only hated a few people in ma life, but disliked the hell out a most a the rest of 'em."

T-Dog smiled, knowing he wasn't going to get an answer to his question, but not really minding. He set the glass of water on the nightstand. "Holler if you need anything, and I won't forget to remind you to take your antibiotics."

"Yeah, whatever," Daryl grumbled as he sat on the edge of the bed.

T-Dog left the room in a hurry to get to the kitchen and Daryl opened the top drawer of the nightstand. He grabbed the Morphine tablets bottle and opened it, dumping one out into his hand. He swallowed it, then returned it to the drawer and slid himself back towards the middle of his bed. He didn't bother to retrieve either of the Blackhawks or his Bowie knife. He was just going to nap a bit and T-Dog would be keeping watch. He settled down on his right side, buried his head in the pillows, and pulled the blue quilt up under his chin. He was a little cold and it was warm and soft. He reflected for a moment on how nice and warm and safe he felt in this room and in this bed. He certainly didn't deserve it and he waivered again, thinking he should give up the room to Lori and Rick. He heard T-Dog banging around in the kitchen and singing some silly song. He yawned and pulled the quilt tighter around him. T-Dogs singing seemed to get further and further away as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Rick and his party returned from the lake house and were met by a curious and excited group. Glenn, Andrea and Carl helped Shane bring the frozen food items into the house to put in the freezer. Shane had filled a garbage bag with ice and had packed it around the frozen food in the bed of the truck after they'd walked through the impassible roadblock.

"Wow," exclaimed Carl, "look at all this bacon! There must be, like twenty pounds of it!"

Rick shot Shane a glance and Shane smiled and shrugged.

"Holy cow!" it was Lori "is that Ben and Jerry's ice cream? You brought some back?" She smiled a big smile at Rick.

Rick motioned to Shane. "Shane was in charge of getting the food together, so don't thank me, thank him."

Shane smiled at Lori and his cheeks blushed red, "I've heard that a lot of pregnant ladies crave ice cream, so I just figured I'd bring some on back."

"Awwwww…it isn't all for Mom, is it?" Carl looked extremely disappointed.

Lori mussed up his hair with her hand, "No, " she laughed, "It isn't all for mom. "

Hershel was pleased with the amount of meat Shane had packed up. He had initially been concerned that it was too much, but Shane had insisted that it was a very small amount compared to how much the freezers held and besides, the group had Daryl and he would be bringing in fresh meat on a regular basis once he was well enough to hunt again.

Hershel invited everyone into the house for dinner and said he'd discuss the happenings at the lake house then.

Carol approached him when he entered the house. She bit her lower lip and nervously rubbed and pulled and twisted her hands in each other. "I know you said you'd tell us what went on at dinner tonight, but to be quite honest, I don't think I can wait that long. I'm sorry…but I need to know. Is Daryl okay?"

Hershel smiled at the timid woman. "It was a good thing that I went out there today. Daryl needed surgery, but he's going to be just fine. "

The color drained from Carol's face and she sat down on the couch. "Surgery? He needed surgery? Why? What happened? Were you able to..?"

Hershel sat on the couch next to her and patted her shoulder. "He was bleeding internally. I was quite worried about it at first. Luckily, I was able to find the damaged arteriole quickly without having to do much of an exploratory search. It was a relatively easy fix as far as internal bleeding surgeries go. The house is set up with a room specifically for medical treatment. The supplies, drugs and antibiotics….it was truly a God send. " Hershel smiled at Carol. "He had lost quite a bit of blood over the last few days, but Shane was a match to his type, so we were able to get in a blood transfusion before surgery. It worked out rather well."

"Shane gave blood for Daryl?" Carol looked surprised.

"Yes, he did, a pint and a half. He might very well have saved Daryl's life. It kept his blood pressure from dropping too low during surgery and replaced some of the blood he'd already lost. If I had had to do the surgery without a transfusion, he very well could have gone into shock and I could have lost him." He patted Carol on the shoulder and rubbed her back in a fatherly gesture. "He was already wide awake and giving me hell just before we left. He's a tough one and I'm confident that he'll be just fine."

Carol smiled at the thought of Daryl giving the man that had just saved his life a hard time. Yes, that sounded like Daryl alright. "Thank you." She said to Hershel. "Thank you for helping him and thank you for letting me know what happened. "

Hershel smiled back at her and stood up. "I've got to go see what we're having for dinner and get washed up."

Carol stood, too, "and I need to go help in the kitchen. Thank you again, Dr. Greene. "

"It's Hershel." Hershel said, his voice kind and gentle. He gave her a wink and turned and walked off towards the bathroom.

* * *

T-Dog grabbed the key marked 'garage' off the key holder next to the kitchen door and stepped out onto the back porch. He had eaten some microwaved frozen eggrolls and an enchilada, but they hadn't quite hit the spot. He had plans for some of the ice cream in the freezer, but he wanted something to eat to complete his dinner before he dove into dessert. He whistled as he approached the garage and unlocked the side door. He entered the freezer room and flipped on the lights. This was going to be fun. He started opening and closing freezers until he got to the 'junk food' freezer. Frozen pizza rolls, little bagel pizzas, a whole box of deep dish pepperoni individual pizzas and was that a box of….it was! Hot pockets! He grabbed the box of ham and cheese hot pockets and the deep dish pizzas and slammed the freezer shut. Oh, this was going to be heavenly!

He locked the door to the garage from the inside and closed the door, checking the knob to make sure it had locked. He started whistling when he heard a low groan coming from his right. He immediately stopped and looked. There was a walker in torn and dirty, decaying camouflage clothing pressed against the chain link fence. T-Dog dropped the hot pockets and the pizza boxes.

T-Dogs eyes widened. Another walker, dressed in similar ragged clothing, crashed out of the woods and joined the first one at the fence. As T-Dog stood there, frozen to the spot, two more snarled and groaned and made their way from the woods to the fence. They pushed against it and growled and snapped and reached their fingers through the fence. Three more arrived and now there were seven camo-clad walkers pushing against the fence and moaning, hungry for his flesh.

T-Dog reached down and retrieved his pizza and hot pockets and ran to the house, stomping across the porch and slamming the door behind him as soon as he was inside.

**What a rotten place to end a chapter! I know, I know…but I've got to maintain my stinker status. =)**


	26. Chapter 26

Dinner had been wonderful and the ladies who cooked dinner had decided to go with seafood as it had thawed much quicker than a larger cut of meat would have. Dinner had consisted of bacon wrapped scallops and shrimp fettuccine with a green salad and of course, ice cream for dessert.

Hershel had explained Daryl's predicament and praised Shane for stepping up and giving over a pint of blood and expressed that he was of the opinion that Shane probably had saved Daryl's life.

Dale's jaw almost hit the table.

Hershel didn't mention the fact that Daryl had adamantly refused to accept Shane's life-giving gift and that he'd needed to be sedated in order for the blood transfusion to even happen. He then gleefully described the surgery and more than once a fork or knife was heard to drop with a 'clang' onto a plate. Hershel did not seem to understand that, unless you were in the medical or funeral services profession, graphic descriptions of surgical procedures was not polite dinner conversation.

Hershel and Shane received many words of thanks and pats on the back from the other members of the group.

Everyone was pleasantly stuffed and the dinner dishes had been cleared away when Shane placed a blueprint of the first floor of the lake house on the table. Those sitting and standing around the table leaned in to look at him and to hear what he had to say.

"Now this here is the first floor. There's a well designed big kitchen, lots of cupboard space, new stainless steel appliances and a kitchen island. Two ovens, too. It's already stocked and there are lots of pots and pans and plates and glasses and silverware. I think you ladies are gonna love it."

Lori and Carol murmured approvingly. Andrea rolled her eyes.

"This is the dining room, well furnished, bigass dining room table with eight chairs. I think it's eight. Great room is right here, huge room with big overstuffed leather couches and chairs. Really comfortable. Fireplace, too. Door here goes out to the deck and the dock. There's a patio set, slate top table and a bunch of those adjustable chairs with cushions. Really nice set up. I noticed a big grill out there, too. The water is clear as glass; you can see the bottom out to about 30 feet. There's some fish in there too and a couple kayaks and a canoe and one powerboat, a bow rider, 20 footer I think. It will be a fun boat to take out fishing."

Andrea smiled at that.

"Off the great room we have the stairs and over to the other side of them is the living room. Over behind them is this hallway that leads to the laundry room and the cellar door. "

"Laundry room," Carol sighed. "It will be so great to be able to do laundry with a washing machine on a regular basis!"

Shane smiled. Now there was a woman who knew her place, not like Andrea who felt like she needed to be some women's-libber Annie Oakley.

He directed his smile at Carol and said, "It has those big modern front loading machines, too. I'm sure they'll cut down the time it takes to do laundry 'cause they can probably handle some really big loads."

Carol blushed and smiled at Shane. Shane was a bit surprised as Carol hadn't appeared to be any too fond of him ever since he'd beat the stuffing out of her dumbass and now deceased abusive asshole husband.

"This here is a bathroom and this here is the master bedroom suite. It's really amazing, got a huge bathroom done in river rock and mortar with a sunken Jacuzzi tub and a shower area with a built-in bench. King sized oak sleigh bed, lots of pillows."

Lori smiled at Rick. "That sounds just perfect! We've never had a king sized bed! It will be so nice to sleep in a nice big bed, and the bathroom sounds just wonderful! "

Shane's mouth had fallen open slightly. Now he glanced at Rick and waited for him to drop the bomb on Lori's little fantasy. This was going to be good, and of course, he'd just set this up. He didn't _have_ to give detailed information about the master suite, but he figured Lori would jump at it if he did and he was right.

Rick cleared his throat and smiled at Lori. "I'm sorry, honey, but that room has already been taken."

Lori's face went from smiling to scowling in no time flat. "What do you mean, it's been taken? There's nobody there except…..wait,… that's _Daryl's_ room? Are you _kidding_ me? Why the hell does Daryl Dixon need a king sized bed and his own damned bathroom? Isn't he allergic to bathing or something? I'm _pregnant_ for heaven's sake! You're the group leader, Rick; just have him pick out a different room!"

Dale and Carol shifted uncomfortably and Andrea, Carl and Glenn looked at Rick nervously. The Greene's decided that this was a good time to go into the living room to wind down for the evening and a smile played about Shane's lips.

"No, Lori," Rick said firmly. "Daryl found this place and the master suite is his. For the record, he did offer it to me, but it's the only bedroom on the first floor and we're going to put an exterior door on it so Daryl can come and go and have his privacy."

Lori stood looking at her husband with her mouth open. Her eyes were wide with anger and her face flushed red. "He offered it to you and you said 'no'? Are you _serious_? Tell him you've thought about it and accept his offer, dammit!"

Rick glared at Lori with steely eyes. "This is not open for discussion, Lori. That room is Daryl's and that's all there is to it. Get _over_ it."

Lori flinched like she'd been slapped, then turned and stormed out the kitchen door.

Carl turned back to his father after watching her leave. "Wow Dad," he exclaimed. "Mom is _pissed_!"

Shane chuckled, "She sure is."

Rick gave Shane his best 'what the hell?' look and Shane cleared his throat and turned his attention back to the blueprint on the table and pulled it aside to reveal the blueprints for the second floor.

"So anyway…there are five bedrooms on the second floor.."

Shane went over the blueprints to the second and third floor with the group. Carl just about flipped when he learned of the game room and he and Glenn made plans to see just what was in that room for game systems and games and started talking about future competitions.

Shane and Rick both lectured Carl on staying _OUT_ of the war room and it was decided that a heavy-duty lock would be put on the room and that only adults would have access to the key.

"Now I know you're not a little kid anymore," Rick told his son, "but I've let a lot of things slide lately as far as what you've been allowed to get away with. I'm telling you now, under no uncertain terms and I'm putting you on notice; you are NOT allowed in that room. If you sneak a key and get in there, you will be in so much trouble you won't know which end is up. I will take you over my knee and paddle your ass in front of the whole group and then I'll forbid you to ever, _ever_ play another video game. Do you understand this Carl?"

Carl looked embarrassed and a bit confused. "Gee Dad; don't you think I'm a bit old for a spanking, and no video games, _ever_?"

Rick looked Carl in the eyes and said, "See? You're already thinking about disobeying me! I want you to understand how serious I am about this. This room is dangerous. It is full of dangerous things, things you have no business being around. Okay, you're right, you are way too old for spankings. I just want you to understand how important and serious this is. I will forbid you to play video games if you even _touch the door _to this room. Do you understand?"

Carl chewed on his lower lip and then said, "Yes, I understand."

Rick smiled at his son. "Good."

It was decided that the five bedrooms on the second floor would be divided up between the group members and that eventually the office on the third floor would be converted into a bedroom as well.

Lori and Rick, T-Dog and Dale, Glenn and Carl and Andrea and Carol would share rooms for now. Shane would have his own room; the smallest bedroom on the second floor would be his. No one argued with the set up and everyone was quite excited.

Rick asked who would like to go out to the lake house the next day and start moving some things in. Carol was anxious to see the place and to see Daryl and Andrea was going to be sharing a room with Carol, so she thought it would be nice to go along with her so they could set the room up the way they wanted to together. Maggie would be going along with them so she could check Daryl's incision and change the dressings on his incision and his head.

"Okay, we'll try to leave by 9:00 tomorrow morning." Rick told the group and they dispersed, all planning to meet by the fire near the RV a short time later.

* * *

Shane approached Rick and grinned, but did not bring up the Lori situation. "You know it would be a lot easier to be making these back and forth trips if we could clean up that last road block. "

Rick nodded, "Isn't that the truth."

"I've got an idea, see? If I could grab a chainsaw and take Dixon's truck out there tomorrow, I could get some of those logs cut up and moved while getting wood for Hershel. It's like killing two birds with one stone."

"Shane, you gave blood just today and you need to take it easy, at least for a couple of days. I don't think you should be running off to cut wood anywhere tomorrow. Can you humor your buddy here, Superman, and take a day off?"

Shane sighed and looked into Rick's eyes. Damn, he hated that puppy-dog look Rick would give him when he was trying to gently bend Shane to his way of thinking, even if he did want to be rid of the guy at times. Okay, lately, most of the time.

"Fine, fine, I'll take the day off tomorrow. Maybe I'll go out to the lake and lay around on the dock. Would that make you feel better?"

Rick smiled. "Much. Then I'd be able to keep an eye on you, too. Make sure you weren't over exerting yourself. You work your ass off, man. Tell you what, you come out tomorrow to the house, work on your tan, and the next day, if you're feeling up to it, I'll grab T-Dog and Glenn and we can all work on that pile of logs and getting Hershel's wood in."

Shane clapped Rick on the shoulder. "I'm sold. I might bring a few of my things over tomorrow, too, and start setting up my room. See ya later, bud."

Rick smiled as Shane walked out of the kitchen, headed for the front door.

* * *

The microwave dinged and T-Dog removed his ham and cheese hot pocket and set it on the island in the kitchen. He stirred two large spoonfuls of Nestles Quik into the tall glass of powdered milk he'd mixed up for himself and threw the spoon in the sink. What was he going to do? Should he let Daryl know that there were walkers outside, or just try to handle the situation himself? He needed to think this out and he did his best thinking on a full stomach. He took a big bite out of the hot pocket. It was hot, but not burn-the-inside-of-your-mouth hot. T-Dog rolled his eyes with pleasure. "Mmmmmmm, damn this is some good shit!"

"You got the shit part right."

T-Dog turned as Daryl came into the kitchen from the dining room. He was dressed in a brown pair of Carharrt jeans and was wearing a sleeveless tan and blue plaid shirt that he hadn't bothered to button. His crossbow was slung across his back and the Ruger Blackhawks hung from their holsters, the belt buckled low on Daryl's waist. The contrasting white bandage covering his incision practically glowed in the dark.

T-Dog smiled as Daryl opened one of the kitchen cupboards and started rummaging around. "What are you doing out of bed, there, sleeping beauty?"

Daryl pulled a can of Chef Boyardee raviolis out of the cupboard and turned to glare at T-Dog. "Serious, T, are you gay 'r sumthin'? 'Cause you keep makin' these gay ass comments n' touchin' me when I'm sleepin' n' stuff. Makes me nervous. Nervous not knowin' if you're just fuckin' aroun' 'er if you're hittin' on me an' dammit, you'd damn well best not be hittin' on me or you'll be findin' a bolt up your gay ass."

T-Dog gave Daryl the most serious look he could muster and sighed. "No, Daryl, I'm not gay, that sleeping beauty crack, that's just me teasing. I'm sorry if it made you nervous."

Daryl nodded, "I'm listenin'."

T-Dog met Daryl's ice blue eyes with his deep chocolate-brown ones. " As far as touching you…well, I came from a touchy-feely family. We were always hugging each other, touching each other, not in a gay way, but in a 'you're my family and I love you' way. I was a sickly child, believe it or not, and my Mom would hold my hand and rub her thumb across the back of it and rub my back, run her fingers through my hair when I was ill. I found it to be comforting and I guess I just figured other people would, too."

Daryl nodded, seemingly satisfied with the explanation and cracked the top off his can of pasta. "Just so you know, not all other people do. So, " he said as he put a spoonful of the mushy tomato goo in his mouth. "How many walkers we got out there lined up along the fence?"

T-Dog had just taken another bite of his Hot Pocket. "How did you know?" He asked with his mouth full.

"Ain't deaf, they're moanin' and groanin' and raisin' up a helluva ruckus. How the hell can you eat that shit?" Daryl motioned towards T-Dog's Hot Pocket.

T-Dog laughed, spitting crumbs everywhere. "This is good stuff! How the hell can you eat that slimy crap? That can't be good for you!"

"Least mine's got some shit in it pretendin' to be vegetables. Says right here on the can, '1/2 cup a vegetables per servin'' an' there's 2 servin's in this here can. Shit you're eatin' don't got no vegetables. "

T-Dog decided he didn't want to argue the nutritional benefits of Hot Pockets vs. Chef Boyardee ravioli, so he said, "Okay, you're right, this is just crap, but its mighty tasty crap. Oh, and speaking of crap…" T-Dog pulled a bottle of pills from his pocket. "Take two of these. Right now."

"Right now, huh?" Daryl raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, right now, they're the antibiotic pills Hershel wanted you to take. Take two now and I'll bug you again in six hours to take two more."

Daryl grumbled but poured himself a glass of water and took the pills. He put his back to the counter and leaned against it. "Any a' the geeks get through the fence? Didn't get a chance to walk it yet."

T-Dog chugged the last of his chocolate milk and belched.

Daryl smirked.

"Shane walked the fence, " T-Dog said as he wiped his chocolate milk mustache off his face with his sleeve. "He said he just had to repair one spot and that he was going to see about filling in the drop off in front of the gate so we could use it."

Daryl nodded. "Wanna take out some walkers with me? Best bet it to use a knife to get 'em through the fence. Crowbar'd be good, too. How many'd you see?"

"Seven, there were seven when I came in. I like the idea of a crowbar."

"Well grab one outta the garage. The one we used to bust open the war room should be right inside a' the door."

The two men finished their food and tossed their utensils into the sink and their garbage into the garbage can. T-Dog was still amused by Daryl's almost OCD like obsession with keeping the house clean. They stepped out the kitchen door and onto the back porch and Daryl handed T-Dog the garage key that he'd snagged off the key holder.

The sun was going down and the sky was streaked with purple and pink. The shadows were stretching and becoming deeper, and the walkers at the fence looked more menacing in the fading light.

Daryl unsheathed his Bowie knife and readied his crossbow, pulling the string back and loading a bolt. "You get the crowbar; I'll start on these assholes with my knife."

T-Dog nodded and jogged toward the garage as Daryl approached the chain link fence. There were more walkers there now, probably a dozen of them and for a moment Daryl wondered if the fence would hold. Then he remembered the steel poles supporting the fence, each sunk into the ground in four feet of cement and he dismissed the worry from his mind.

Daryl took out three walkers, one after the other, sliding the razor-sharp knife through the gap in the fence links and into the unfortunate walker's head and then quickly sliding the blade back out again. He had wiped the knife off on his pants and had raised it once more when T-Dog called to him from the garage."

"Hey Daryl," T-Dog called as he held up two crowbars, one in each hand, "you want one of these, too?"

Daryl's eyes grew wide, "Get _down_!", he shouted as he brought up his crossbow and aimed at the walker that had come around the corner of the garage. It was now right behind T-Dog, reaching for him.

T-Dog crouched, expecting to hear the whoosh of Daryl's arrow as it flew over his head to take out the danger behind him.

Daryl pulled the trigger and there was a loud "Fffffppt" noise as the bowstring snapped. The bolt tumbled two feet and fell to the ground.

Everything moved in slow motion then for Daryl. The walker reached for T-Dog as Daryl dropped the crossbow on the ground and pulled his Blackhawks from their holsters. The walker sunk its teeth into T-Dogs big, meaty shoulder and tore at his flesh as the Blackhawks roared, spitting fire from their barrels and the walker's head exploded as it pulled a chunk of flesh from the big man's shoulder. Daryl ran towards T-Dog as the big man fell and two other walkers walked out from around the garage. The twin Blackhawks bellowed like fire breathing dragons and the walkers fell.

Daryl fell to his knees next to T-Dog. "No, no, no, _no, no_! I'm sorry, I'm _so_ sorry…my crossbow, the string…_fuck_!"

T-Dog turned his head to look at the wound on his shoulder as it gushed blood. It burned and was terribly painful. He could feel his own blood soaking his shirt, running down his arm, his chest. The wound pulsed and pushed blood out of his body with every beat of his heart. "Not your fault, man, not your fault." He reached for Daryl's left hand with his right one and Daryl grasped his hand, squeezing it tightly then clumsily trying to run his calloused finger across the top of the man's big hand.

"I'm so sorry, T, _so fuckin' sorry_. This is all _my fault_." Daryl lowered his eyes then looked into T-Dogs.

T-Dog flinched. Those eyes, those blue eyes expressing sorrow, regret, guilt, more than any words the hunter could ever say, hell, words he couldn't say. They spoke to T-Dog and T-Dog was taken aback by the raw emotion they conveyed. "No, it _isn't_ your fault, so shut up, but _check the fence..._ in a few minutes." He coughed and had a hard time catching his breath. He could feel the life seeping out of his body with his blood. He wanted to ask Daryl to do what needed to be done. To take the shot for him, but could he really ask Daryl to do that? Daryl was already blaming himself for this, for his impending death. No, it was too easy to see Daryl putting the gun to T-Dogs head and then turning it on himself. "Give me one….of your…..badass pistols….please."

Daryl looked confused and then those blue eyes registered understanding. He knew. He shook his head and T-Dog looked at him with pleading eyes.

"Please, Daryl...please."

Daryl looked into those brown eyes and saw so much pain, and right then he knew that it would be an act of mercy. He placed one of the Blackhawks in T-Dog's left hand.

T-Dog slid his right hand out of Daryl's and ran it up and down the barrel, still hot from use. He looked at Daryl, his vision was becoming foggy and it was getting harder to breathe. "Promise me….." He whispered. "Promise me that you won't…..won't hurt …yourself. The group…they..they need you. "

Daryl was silent. Had the dying man just read his mind?

T-Dog reached out his right hand, Daryl grasped it again and T-Dog squeezed. "Promise me. _Please_…..Daryl…."

"Okay okay, I _fuckin' promise you_!"

That broken sad voice, it didn't sound like Daryl's but it had to be, they were the only two people there. The calloused finger slid along the top of T-Dogs hand again. T-Dog smiled, his vision fading. "Always… wanted to fire…. one of these… mother...motherfuckers." He pulled the hammer back on the Blackhawk, placed it against his left temple and fired.

The blood spatter, bone chips and brain matter hit Daryl's right side. A .44 Blackhawk at close range doesn't leave much of its target recognizable and that was the case here as well. Daryl sat there for a minute with pieces of T-Dogs skull sliding and dripping off him. He didn't cry. He couldn't cry. He was numb. Totally numb.

This wasn't really happening. This couldn't really be happening. He took the Blackhawk from T-Dog's lifeless hand and got to his feet, approaching the walkers at the fence. Hell, if there were any other walkers in the area, they'd be on their way after hearing the Blackhawks, so he didn't give a shit about how much more noise he made. He wiped his hand across the right side of his face trying to remove some of the blood and ended up only smearing it across a larger area. He took down the walkers left at the fence with shots to the head and made his way along the fence to the gate. Daryl met two more walkers inside the fence on the way to the gate and ended their once ended lives for good with shots to the head. When he got to the gate, he fell to his knees and bowed his head. It was open and swinging in the breeze.

He sat there for a moment, reeling with the reality of what had happened, hardly able to comprehend the evil and the deceit and the hate behind T-Dogs completely unnecessary death. His death, it was supposed to be his, not T-Dogs. He had been the target; T-Dog had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Daryl put his hands on his knees and looked up at the sky.

Twilight had fallen and the stars were coming out. Fireflies winked and blinked across the lawn and outside the fence, earthly competition with the twinkling stars making their evening entrance. A breeze picked up and the pines murmured among themselves.

Daryl felt the breeze drying the blood to his hands and the blood that had spattered on him when T-Dog had taken his shot. He felt a heat rise up in him, wrapping itself around his chest and burning in his heart. An anger and hate he'd pushed down and kept chained up for years was breaking free of its chains. He'd successfully repressed it and kept it in check for so long but here it was, it was loose and threatened to pull him over the edge into insanity. He would have revenge. He would avenge the senseless death he had just witnessed. The death that the orchestrator had wanted to be his.

Daryl opened his eyes; fiery, vivid blue eyes, wild with anger and hurt and more than a hint of madness. He stood and raised a fist to the sky and roared, "_Fuck you, Shaaane_! _I'm gonna kill your ass!"_

**Yes! I killed one of the nicest characters in the story! I suck! Bring on the hate! = )**


	27. Chapter 27

Daryl closed the gate, his shout still ringing in his ears. He didn't know how long he had stood there screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing across the lake. He had to get control of himself, he had to grab control of his anger, his dark and incredibly intense rage, or he would start acting solely on emotions and any vestige of reason would cease to exist. He felt that way now.

He wanted to reload his Rugers, shoulder his crossbow, get on the Fat Boy and ride straight to the Greene's farm. _Right now_. Once there, he would seek out Shane, blow him to little itty bits and then shove his crossbow up what was left of the despicable bastard's ass. Of course, then one of the other members of the group would probably end up blowing his brains out, thinking he'd gone off the deep end, and of course, they'd be right. He was off the deep end alright and doing the backstroke.

Daryl walked along the fence line, looking for openings or weaknesses. His mind still raced as he walked.

Was he really planning on murdering Shane? After all, premeditation equals murder, right? Why the hell did Shane feel the need to eliminate him? Hadn't he given Shane what he wanted? Well, besides the codicil that Shane would need to keep his hands off Lori once they were moved into the house. Was it because he had put Shane on notice that he would not tolerate another physical attack? He'd told Shane he'd kill him if Shane attacked him again. "Meant it, too," he said to himself out loud. No, Shane was going to get rid of him because he was afraid that Daryl would spill his guts to Rick about Otis and the Lori situation. Well, Shane's little scheme had gotten someone not involved killed and now it was going to backfire on the fucker because Daryl was going to let Rick know _everything_. Yeah, like Rick would believe him over Shane. Well, shit.

Daryl had gotten the crazy, wild, rage fueled and emotion driven animal inside of him to back off and let reason step up and take over. As much as he would love to let the animal take over and blow Shane straight to hell _tonight_, that was not a reasonable course of action. Good Lord, if he did that, not only would the members of the group think he had gone completely nuts, they'd also accuse him of being an ungrateful asshole. Daryl was sure Shane had been blowing his horn to the group about giving up his precious blood for him and that Shane had twisted the story to make it look like he'd saved Daryl's life. Had he? Did it matter?

Daryl scowled as he continued to walk the fence line. He had wondered at first why Shane had offered to donate his blood. At first he thought it might be a ploy to fuck him up good, physically; that Shane didn't really have the same blood type and just wanted Daryl to have a helluva bad reaction to a completely wrong type of blood. Now he wished that had been the case. If that had happened, Shane would have been exposed for the weasel he was.

Now, as far as everyone else was concerned, Shane had become Mother Theresa, minus the modesty.

Daryl needed a plan. Oh, he was going to take Shane down, no doubt about that, the fucker was going to die, but Daryl would be damned if Shane would die while he was being praised and heralded for being such a sacrificial and good, honorable man. The thought that anyone would think of Shane Walsh that way almost made Daryl physically sick and he stopped walking to spit on the ground.

He would need to second guess Shane, to try to figure out what he was planning next, to get inside his head. "To think like an asshole, " he said to himself.

"You're an asshole, should be damned easy for you ta think like one, " Imaginary Merle opined.

"Shane Walsh's 'n asshole of a different caliber. " Daryl mumbled. He knew he was an asshole. He always had been, but Shane, Shane took the asshole cake.

Daryl finished walking the fence line and ended up back at the gate. There were no breaches in the fence and as he studied the gate he noticed the ground just beyond the gate had been disturbed. He opened the gate and stepped a foot beyond it to where the land dropped off into a dip. "Bastard…" he whispered. A crude ramp had been set up over the dip behind the gate. It had been set up using four planks of wood that had been with others in a stack in the garage. At least Daryl was pretty sure that is where they'd come from. The length and the width seemed about right. A ramp had been set up to allow easy access to the gate and the gate had been left open. The top of the ramp was embedded in a ridge that had been dug about a foot below the edge where the ground dropped off, so the ramp was not visible if you were standing inside the fence and facing the gate.

Daryl felt reason starting to take a vacation as the animal inside him fed on and drew strength from the fury that was rising in him.

The fury took a back seat when a sharp pain under his incision grabbed his attention. He figured he was probably due for another pain pill. He assessed the pain level. It wasn't too awful. Nothing like what he had experienced upon waking up during surgery while his guts were exposed, but then again, he'd never in his life felt anything like that. He had seen people disemboweled alive by walkers and he wondered if that was how it felt to them.

"You sure are a sick lil' monkey, ain't cha?" Imaginary Merle was back again.

"Ain't sick to wonder 'bout somethin' like that."

"Ya, if you're fuckin' nuts it ain't."

"Why doncha go crawl back under whateverthehell rock you just climbed out from under an' jus' leave me the fuck alone."

"Can't do that baby brother, on account as I love you so."

"Fuck you, Merle. Jus' fuckin' fuck you!"

"Y'all wanna know why ah'm lovin' on ya, bro? Y'all got rid a that jiggaboo, dropped th' fuckin' key to the cuffs on 'at roof in Atlanta. Dropped it down a drain. Fuckin' left me there. Had to cut off ma own fuckin' hand. Was his fault and now you made 'im pay. Proud of ya, baby brother, you done good by ol' Merle."

Daryl clapped his hands over his ears and crouched down, shaking his head as if trying to shoo an annoying fly.

"W'ant his fault, Merle. Was your fault you got cuffed. _Your_ fuckin' fault. You didn't play nice, you fucked up and you paid the piper. We came for ya. You shoulda know'd I'd come for ya. W'ant T-Dogs fault, w'ant Rick's fault. _Your _fault, now get the _fuck_ outta my _head_!"

Imaginary Merle took his leave, at least for now, and Daryl trudged over to the garage. He stepped around T-Dog carefully and went inside the garage and found a five gallon can about half full of gasoline. He brought it to the middle of the back yard along with a shovel. He had to stop for a minute when another wave of pain from his incision washed over him. He stood still and felt it build, like a wave rising up and then it crested and it felt like he was being ripped in half. He sucked in a breath and grit his teeth against it. Sweat sprung up and beaded on his forehead. It started to recede and he took a deep breath. He couldn't take a pain pill yet, he had too much to do and he sure as hell didn't want to be falling asleep while trying to do it. Besides, the last pill he'd taken hadn't seemed to do much of anything.

His head hadn't bothered him for a couple of hours and he was grateful for that. He could pretty much handle the incision and the left side pains; it was the sudden jolts that hit his brain that had set him on his ass twice now.

Daryl found the roll-away box containing the garden hose on the back porch and unrolled the hose until it reached the middle of the back yard. He adjusted the spray regulator to "jet" and pushed in the handle lever to make sure the water stream was the way he wanted it. A short blast of water confirmed that it was.

Daryl barely pressed the lever in and water trickled out of the hose attachment. He bent over and stuck his face into the fountain of water, washing away blood and bits of brain and bone. He soaked his hair as well, then shook his head like a dog to rid his hair of some of the water.

He brought the end of the hose to his lips and drank, long and deep, water running down his face and chest and wetting the top of his jeans. Okay. Time to get to work.

It took him two hours to drag the sixteen walkers to the middle of the yard and to arrange them into some sort of pile. When he got to the twelfth one he started to get a bit light headed, so he stopped and made himself rest for a good ten minutes before he continued with his task. The pain beneath his incision was building, but it was a dull ache, and he only had to deal with the 'kick in the guts' pain and stop what he was doing twice while he gathered the fuel for an obscenely morbid bon fire.

Once he'd arranged and piled the bodies the best he could, he'd moved the hose aside, just in case he needed it because dammit, he wasn't going to burn his house down by accident. He then took the gas can and doused the pile with about a gallon of gas. He put the gas back in the garage; again, he wasn't going to burn the damned place down. There was no room here for careless mistakes. He tucked a pair of leather work gloves into the waistband of his jeans as he walked out of the garage and closed the door.

Daryl took an old Zippo lighter from his pocket. He smiled when he read the inscription for probably the five hundredth time. "Badass Mofo". It was Merle's. Merle was one of the biggest racist assholes that he knew, but he had loved Samuel L. Jackson's character, Jules, in Pulp Fiction. Daryl used it to light a crumpled piece of old newspaper he'd tied around the top of a long stick and threw it onto the pile of bodies.

There was a muffled _whooosh_ as the fire burst into existence and began to consume the bodies of the walkers.

Daryl grabbed the shovel he'd leaned against the garage and walked over to the row of graves against the fence line. He unbuckled his holster belt and slipped it off his hips. The right side of it was spattered with blood and God knows what else. He draped it over the closest grave maker and pulled the leather work gloves out from the top of his jeans and pulled them on. Daryl sighed and positioned the shovel about five feet to the right of the last grave in the row and stepped on the top of the shovel, pushing it into the ground.

The motion of shoveling pulled at his stitches and compressed and then extended the abdominal muscles Hershel had cut through and then sewn back together. Daryl had to stop twice in the span of half an hour to wait for the latest pain wave to subside so he could get back to the task at hand. After forty five minutes of digging, his stitches started to tear.

The stars were out and the crickets chirped and the cicadas buzzed as Daryl continued to dig. The night was relatively cool, which was nice. He wasn't sure if all the stitches had been pulled, but he knew that his incision was bleeding. He could feel the blood seeping out of it and onto his skin. It was warm and wet and sticky and the dressing had soaked through with it. No matter. He would redress the wound when he was done.

After an hour and a half of digging, the dressing was heavy with blood and blood had seeped down and was being soaked up by the top of his jeans and his boxers. He could feel a trickle of warmth running down his left leg beneath his jeans and wondered if it would make it all the way down his leg and into his sock. His head still showed no sign of giving him any trouble, well as far as headaches and pains were concerned, but the incidents and durations of the jabbing pains coming from the site of his surgery had increased.

Daryl winced and stopped digging as the most recent bout rolled in. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes tightly. It felt like someone was twisting a knife in him. It passed and he resumed digging.

After two hours of digging, he stopped. The grave wasn't quite four feet deep, but he couldn't dig any more.

He climbed up out of the hole and rolled over onto his back and lay there in the grass for a few minutes. He stared at the stars and just let his mind go for a few blissful moments. He smiled a small smile, it was so peaceful, lying on his back here, a tiny speck in a vast universe, on the back lawn of a log house next to a quiet lake in Georgia. It was so still and quiet here, lying in the grass while the earth spun at about 1000 miles an hour as it orbited the sun at about 67,000 miles an hour. "Thank God fer gravity, " he mumbled to himself.

Daryl reached down and put his hand on his dressing. It made a squishing noise when he pressed on it. And it hurt.

He smirked and scolded himself. "Course its gonna hurt if you press on it, ya dumb-ass."

He slowly got to his feet and wandered back over to the garage. He'd need the shovel again in the morning, but he'd bring it into the garage anyway. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't like anyone was going to come and steal it.

He came out of the garage with a folded blue tarp under his arm and he locked the garage door. Daryl unfolded the tarp and started to place it over T-Dog. He stopped for a moment and looked down at the body. He was going to speak to the man, but looking at his body while he spoke didn't feel right. Daryl looked up at the stars. "M' sorry I was such a asshole to you, T-Dog. M' sorry I asked you if you were gay an' I'm sorry I gave you shit for touchin' me. I'm sorry ah fucked up an' don't you worry 'bout nothin', 'cause Shane is sure 'nuff gonna pay for what he done. Most a' all, I hope you're in a good place now, brother."

Daryl placed the tarp over T-Dog and walked over to the row of graves to retrieve his gun belt. The fire had died down and there were only a few pieces of charred bone left to indicate that there had been a pile of walkers there a couple of hours before.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow up from off of the ground as he headed for the porch. He was covered with dirt and blood and he removed his boots and stripped down on the porch by the kitchen door. He rolled his clothes into a bundle and pushed his shirt against his dressing to soak up any blood that might have a tendency to drip on the floor once he was inside. He then went into the kitchen and once inside, he locked the door behind him.

Daryl's first stop was the laundry room, where he dumped his clothes in a heap on top of the washing machine. He then entered his bedroom and laid his crossbow against the chair by the closet and holster belt on the dresser, carefully removing each pistol and laying it next to the holster.

He was exhausted and filthy. He stepped into the bathroom and pulled a dark blue towel and a dark blue washcloth out of the linen closet. The color would hide any bloodstains that didn't come out in the wash. He chuckled at the very idea that he would be thinking about such a thing or that it would even matter to him.

He looked down at the blood soaked bandage and started picking at the taped edges. He finally got one edge up and pulled it down and off. He tossed the bloody bandage into the garbage can and assessed the damages. Half of the stitches were useless as they had been torn from the skin on both sides and in one spot the incision gaped open almost a half an inch, exposing the stitches in the abdominal muscles. No wonder it fuckin' hurt.

Daryl started the shower and adjusted the temperature. He knew he wasn't supposed to get the sutures wet, but dammit, he was dirty and if he just washed the open part of the incision out with soap and rinsed it really well, is should be okay. Right? Then he'd go up to the med room, grab a surgical needle and sew the damned thing up himself. It wasn't like he'd never had to stitch one of his wounds before.

He stepped under the shower and let the hot water wash the dirt and blood off his body. The bandage on his head fell off and floated merrily towards the drain and he brought his hand up to the gash on his head. He felt the small hairless patch and the stitches that he hadn't realized were there.

He smiled. That Hershel was a tricky bastard and damn, he'd put a nice bald patch on his head. He felt around a bit more and realized that there was enough hair growing above the spot and it was plenty long enough to cover the spot. Neither T-Dog nor Hershel had mentioned anything about the stitches in his head. His smile widened. Of course they didn't; they didn't want to be in shouting range when he discovered and exploded over the shaved patch on his head.

Daryl watched the blood tinged water swirl down the drain. He let the water beat on his incision and the exposed muscle. It hurt like hell, but at least it would be clean. He washed his hair, gently massaging his scalp and picking tiny pieces of skull fragments out of the hair on the right side of his head. Fucking hell. T-Dog had been nothing but decent to him and now he was gone and dammit, if Hershel had listened and let Daryl stay alone….No, this wasn't Hershel's fault. Focus, Daryl, focus. This was _Shane's_ fault and Shane was going to pay, so take a deep breath and finish your damned shower so you can take one of those morphine tabs and go to fuckin' bed.

Daryl rinsed off and shut off the shower. He rubbed his hair in the dark blue towel and then wrapped it around his waist. The incision was bleeding again, so he grabbed a dark blue hand towel from the linen closet and pressed it against it. He jumped as a sharp pain jabbed his wound and grit his teeth. He waited for it to pass. Okay, enough. He was going to have a pain pill and have it _now_. He could still sew if he was just taking one. It would take a little while to work, anyway.

Daryl walked into the bedroom and opened the nightstand drawer T-Dog had left another bottle of morphine tablets on the dresser, but Daryl couldn't see opening a new bottle until the ones in the bottle in his nightstand were gone. He opened the bottle that he'd pulled from the nightstand and popped the white tablet in his mouth, chasing it down with the half full glass of water on the night stand.

He sighed. Now came the fun part. Climbing the stairs to the med room.

It took a bit longer than 10 minutes to get to the med room. The action of stepping up the stairs pulled the open incision open further and Daryl had to stop every few stairs to grasp the railing, ride out the pain and clear his head. Shit, but it hurt.

He flipped on the light in the med room and rummaged around on a shelf that held various typed of surgical tools. He found a box with sterile suture kits and grabbed two of them after checking needle sizes. He grabbed a bottle of betadine, too, and then started the trip back to his room.

He held the railing tight as he descended the stairs. A wave of dizziness hit him and he sat down on the step behind him. He'd be damned if he was going to fall down the damned stairs. The surgical wound was starting to hurt worse, if that was possible and he didn't understand that. He had taken the damned morphine tablet over 20 minutes ago. It should be doing _something._

He finally reached the bottom of the stairs and walked slowly to his room and into his bathroom. He pulled the towel from his waist and draped it over the toilet seat and sat down.

Daryl cursed as he tried to thread the damned needle. His hands were trembling and he kept missing the needle's eye. He laughed scornfully at himself. "If yer too damned shaky ta thread a needle, what the hell is the stitchin' gonna look like?" The thread finally found its way through the needle's eye and Daryl held the needle in his right hand and leaned back. He squirted some betadine on the wound site rinsing away the blood that still oozed from it and shit, did it burn! He patted the wound with a piece of gauze, then pulled the patch of useless stitches out and tossed them into the garbage can. He took a deep breath, held the two sides of the incision in his skin together as best as he could with his left hand and poked the needle through his skin. He had to go a bit wider than Hershel had, as the stitches Hershel had put in had ripped through the skin and left something that resembled a fringe made of skin.

"Sumpin' that freaky guy in "Jeepers Creepers" might wear." Imaginary Merle observed.

'Yeah', thought Daryl, 'sumthin' just like that.'

Daryl finished up the stitches and tied them off. He had forgotten to grab scissors and he'd be damned if he was going to go back to the fuckin' third floor for them, so he grumbled and walked into his bedroom, retrieved his hunting knife from the nightstand drawer and cut the suture string. He put the knife back in its sheath and tossed it into the drawer. That's when he noticed the bottle of Tylenol. He couldn't take another morphine pill, not for a couple of hours and dammit, it sure as hell didn't seem to be working, anyway, so a couple of Tylenol might help and sure as hell wouldn't hurt. He shook four of them into his hand, then put one back. Hopefully, three would take the edge off a bit, anyway, and then this damn super slow acting morphine would kick in. Daryl grabbed his water glass, and holding the pills in his other hand, he went back into the bathroom. He filled the glass with water and swallowed the three tablets, then bandaged his new stitches. He brushed his teeth and then left the bathroom, flipping off the light as he left the room.

He sat down in the chair by the closet and reached down and brought up his crossbow. He had just waxed the damned string, he would have noticed if there was a weakness, wouldn't he? He had been using a crossbow for years, hell, a couple decades and he'd always changed the strings before they were too old or too worn or damaged. He had never had a string snap._ Never_. He ran the waxed string through his fingers, it was strong, no fraying, no weaknesses. Finally he inspected the broken ends. His brow furrowed and he brought the ends up closer to his eyes. _What. The. Fuck_. Notched. The string had been _notched_. Whoever had done it had tried to hide their handiwork by re-spreading the string wax, but all that had done was call more attention to the notch, as the wax had settled into the fresh cut, making it stand out. Daryl stared at the notched string. It all made sense.

Walkers would show up in the yard inside the fence. Daryl would grab his crossbow. He'd go outside to take care of the walkers, fire at one, the string would break and viola! Daryl Dixon becomes a walker extra value meal and Shane is rid of him.

Yeah, Shane was going to reap it, and it was going to _hurt_.

Daryl laid the crossbow against the chair and stood up. That damned morphine pill was finally starting to work. The incision pain was fading and he was starting to feel a bit tired. Of course, that could just be from dragging walkers around and digging graves alone. Daryl slid one of the Blackhawks under his pillow and climbed into bed. He rolled onto his right side and clutched a pillow to his chest. Damn, all of the sudden he was so tired. As he closed his eyes, he could hear T-Dog's voice, "Staying here with you tonight. I thought we could pop some popcorn, watch a movie, talk, maybe have a pillow fight."

Daryl hugged the pillow tighter and tears started to slip from his eyes. Dixon's weren't supposed to cry, crying showed weakness, only pussies cried.

Daryl didn't care. He was exhausted and he was hurt, but those were not reasons to shed tears. He'd lost someone today, someone who actually seemed to like him, who enjoyed spending time with him and who he was beginning to let himself get close to. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

T-Dog hadn't deserved this. Daryl cried for T-Dog, cried for the life cut short, cried for the loss of his friend. He was exhausted and sore and alone and so the hell what if he couldn't push down the sadness that overwhelmed him. His breath hitched in his chest and he sobbed. Then, for the first time in more than twenty-five years, Daryl Dixon cried himself to sleep.


	28. Chapter 28

Daryl closed the gate, his shout still ringing in his ears. He didn't know how long he had stood there screaming at the top of his lungs, his voice echoing across the lake. He had to get control of himself, he had to grab control of his anger, his dark and incredibly intense rage, or he would start acting solely on emotions and any vestige of reason would cease to exist. He felt that way now.

He wanted to reload his Rugers, shoulder his crossbow, get on the Fat Boy and ride straight to the Greene's farm. _Right now_. Once there, he would seek out Shane, blow him to little itty bits and then shove his crossbow up what was left of the despicable bastard's ass. Of course, then one of the other members of the group would probably end up blowing his brains out, thinking he'd gone off the deep end, and of course, they'd be right. He was off the deep end alright and doing the backstroke.

Daryl walked along the fence line, looking for openings or weaknesses. His mind still raced as he walked.

Was he really planning on murdering Shane? After all, premeditation equals murder, right? Why the hell did Shane feel the need to eliminate him? Hadn't he given Shane what he wanted? Well, besides the codicil that Shane would need to keep his hands off Lori once they were moved into the house. Was it because he had put Shane on notice that he would not tolerate another physical attack? He'd told Shane he'd kill him if Shane attacked him again. "Meant it, too," he said to himself out loud. No, Shane was going to get rid of him because he was afraid that Daryl would spill his guts to Rick about Otis and the Lori situation. Well, Shane's little scheme had gotten someone not involved killed and now it was going to backfire on the fucker because Daryl was going to let Rick know _everything_. Yeah, like Rick would believe him over Shane. Well, shit.

Daryl had gotten the crazy, wild, rage fueled and emotion driven animal inside of him to back off and let reason step up and take over. As much as he would love to let the animal take over and blow Shane straight to hell _tonight_, that was not a reasonable course of action. Good Lord, if he did that, not only would the members of the group think he had gone completely nuts, they'd also accuse him of being an ungrateful asshole. Daryl was sure Shane had been blowing his horn to the group about giving up his precious blood for him and that Shane had twisted the story to make it look like he'd saved Daryl's life. Had he? Did it matter?

Daryl scowled as he continued to walk the fence line. He had wondered at first why Shane had offered to donate his blood. At first he thought it might be a ploy to fuck him up good, physically; that Shane didn't really have the same blood type and just wanted Daryl to have a helluva bad reaction to a completely wrong type of blood. Now he wished that had been the case. If that had happened, Shane would have been exposed for the weasel he was.

Now, as far as everyone else was concerned, Shane had become Mother Theresa, minus the modesty.

Daryl needed a plan. Oh, he was going to take Shane down, no doubt about that, the fucker was going to die, but Daryl would be damned if Shane would die while he was being praised and heralded for being such a sacrificial and good, honorable man. The thought that anyone would think of Shane Walsh that way almost made Daryl physically sick and he stopped walking to spit on the ground.

He would need to second guess Shane, to try to figure out what he was planning next, to get inside his head. "To think like an asshole, " he said to himself.

"You're an asshole, should be damned easy for you to think like one, " Imaginary Merle opined.

"Shane Walsh's 'n asshole of a different caliber. " Daryl mumbled. He knew he was an asshole. He always had been, but Shane, Shane took the asshole cake.

Daryl finished walking the fence line and ended up back at the gate. There were no breaches in the fence and as he studied the gate he noticed the ground just beyond the gate had been disturbed. He opened the gate and stepped a foot beyond it to where the land dropped off into a dip. "Bastard…" he whispered. A crude ramp had been set up over the dip behind the gate. It had been set up using four planks of wood that had been with others in a stack in the garage. At least Daryl was pretty sure that is where they'd come from. The length and the width seemed about right. A ramp had been set up to allow easy access to the gate and the gate had been left open. The top of the ramp was embedded in a ridge that had been dug about a foot below the edge where the ground dropped off, so the ramp was not visible if you were standing inside the fence and facing the gate.

Daryl felt reason starting to take a vacation as the animal inside him fed on and drew strength from the fury that was rising in him.

The fury took a back seat when a sharp pain under his incision grabbed his attention. He figured he was probably due for another pain pill. He assessed the pain level. It wasn't too awful. Nothing like what he had experienced upon waking up during surgery while his guts were exposed, but then again, he'd never in his life felt anything like that. He had seen people disemboweled alive by walkers and he wondered if that was how it felt to them.

"You sure are a sick lil' monkey, ain't cha?" Imaginary Merle was back again.

"Ain't sick to wonder 'bout somethin' like that."

"Ya, if you're fuckin' nuts it ain't."

"Why doncha go crawl back under whateverthehell rock you just climbed out from under an' jus' leave me the fuck alone."

"Can't do that baby brother, on account as I love you so."

"Fuck you, Merle. Jus' fuckin' fuck you!"

"You wanna know why I'm lovin' on ya, bro? Ya got rid a that jiggaboo, dropped th' fuckin' key to the cuffs on 'at roof in Atlanta. Dropped it down a drain. Fuckin' left me there. Had to cut off my own fuckin' hand. Was his fault and now you made 'im pay. Proud of you, baby brother, you done good by ol' Merle."

Daryl clapped his hands over his ears and crouched down, shaking his head as if trying to shoo an annoying fly.

"W'ant his fault, Merle. Was your fault you got cuffed. _Your_ fuckin' fault. You didn't play nice, you fucked up and you paid the piper. We came for you. You shoulda know'd I'd come for you. W'ant T-Dogs fault, w'ant Rick's fault. _Your _fault, now get the _fuck_ outta my _head_!"

Imaginary Merle took his leave, at least for now, and Daryl trudged over to the garage. He stepped around T-Dog carefully and went inside the garage and found a five gallon can about half full of gasoline. He brought it to the middle of the back yard along with a shovel. He had to stop for a minute when another wave of pain from his incision washed over him. He stood still and felt it build, like a wave rising up and then it crested and it felt like he was being ripped in half. He sucked in a breath and grit his teeth against it. Sweat sprung up and beaded on his forehead. It started to recede and he took a deep breath. He couldn't take a pain pill yet, he had too much to do and he sure as hell didn't want to be falling asleep while trying to do it. Besides, the last pill he'd taken hadn't seemed to do much of anything.

His head hadn't bothered him for a couple of hours and he was grateful for that. He could pretty much handle the incision and the left side pains; it was the sudden jolts that hit his brain that had set him on his ass twice now.

Daryl found the roll-away box containing the garden hose on the back porch and unrolled the hose until it reached the middle of the back yard. He adjusted the spray regulator to "jet" and pushed in the handle lever to make sure the water stream was the way he wanted it. A short blast of water confirmed that it was.

Daryl barely pressed the lever in and water trickled out of the hose attachment. He bent over and stuck his face into the fountain of water, washing away blood and bits of brain and bone. He soaked his hair as well, then shook his head like a dog to rid his hair of some of the water.

He brought the end of the hose to his lips and drank, long and deep, water running down his face and chest and wetting the top of his jeans. Okay. Time to get to work.

It took him two hours to drag the sixteen walkers to the middle of the yard and to arrange them into some sort of pile. When he got to the twelfth one he started to get a bit light headed, so he stopped and made himself rest for a good ten minutes before he continued with his task. The pain beneath his incision was building, but it was a dull ache, and he only had to deal with the 'kick in the guts' pain and stop what he was doing twice while he gathered the fuel for an obscenely morbid bon fire.

Once he'd arranged and piled the bodies the best he could, he'd moved the hose aside, just in case he needed it because dammit, he wasn't going to burn his house down by accident. He then took the gas can and doused the pile with about a gallon of gas. He put the gas back in the garage; again, he wasn't going to burn the damned place down. There was no room here for careless mistakes. He tucked a pair of leather work gloves into the waistband of his jeans as he walked out of the garage and closed the door.

Daryl took an old Zippo lighter from his pocket. He smiled when he read the inscription for probably the five hundredth time. "Badass Mofo". It was Merle's. Merle was one of the biggest racist assholes that he knew, but he had loved Samuel L. Jackson's character, Jules, in Pulp Fiction. Daryl used it to light a crumpled piece of old newspaper he'd tied around the top of a long stick and threw it onto the pile of bodies.

There was a muffled _whooosh_ as the fire burst into existence and began to consume the bodies of the walkers.

Daryl grabbed the shovel he'd leaned against the garage and walked over to the row of graves against the fence line. He unbuckled his holster belt and slipped it off his hips. The right side of it was spattered with blood and God knows what else. He draped it over the closest grave maker and pulled the leather work gloves out from the top of his jeans and pulled them on. Daryl sighed and positioned the shovel about five feet to the right of the last grave in the row and stepped on the top of the shovel, pushing it into the ground.

The motion of shoveling pulled at his stitches and compressed and then extended the abdominal muscles Hershel had cut through and then sewn back together. Daryl had to stop twice in the span of half an hour to wait for the latest pain wave to subside so he could get back to the task at hand. After forty five minutes of digging, his stitches started to tear.

The stars were out and the crickets chirped and the cicadas buzzed as Daryl continued to dig. The night was relatively cool, which was nice. He wasn't sure if all the stitches had been pulled, but he knew that his incision was bleeding. He could feel the blood seeping out of it and onto his skin. It was warm and wet and sticky and the dressing had soaked through with it. No matter. He would redress the wound when he was done.

After an hour and a half of digging, the dressing was heavy with blood and blood had seeped down and was being soaked up by the top of his jeans and his boxers. He could feel a trickle of warmth running down his left leg beneath his jeans and wondered if it would make it all the way down his leg and into his sock. His head still showed no sign of giving him any trouble, well as far as headaches and pains were concerned, but the incidents and durations of the jabbing pains coming from the site of his surgery had increased.

Daryl winced and stopped digging as the most recent bout rolled in. He bit his bottom lip and closed his eyes tightly. It felt like someone was twisting a knife in him. It passed and he resumed digging.

After two hours of digging, he stopped. The grave wasn't quite four feet deep, but he couldn't dig any more.

He climbed up out of the hole and rolled over onto his back and lay there in the grass for a few minutes. He stared at the stars and just let his mind go for a few blissful moments. He smiled a small smile, it was so peaceful, lying on his back here, a tiny speck in a vast universe, on the back lawn of a log house next to a quiet lake in Georgia. It was so still and quiet here, lying in the grass while the earth spun at about 1000 miles an hour as it orbited the sun at about 67,000 miles an hour. "Thank God for gravity, " he mumbled to himself.

Daryl reached down and put his hand on his dressing. It made a squishing noise when he pressed on it. And it hurt.

He smirked and scolded himself. "Course its gonna hurt if you press on it, you dumb-ass."

He slowly got to his feet and wandered back over to the garage. He'd need the shovel again in the morning, but he'd bring it into the garage anyway. He wasn't sure why. It wasn't like anyone was going to come and steal it.

He came out of the garage with a folded blue tarp under his arm and he locked the garage door. Daryl unfolded the tarp and started to place it over T-Dog. He stopped for a moment and looked down at the body. He was going to speak to the man, but looking at his body while he spoke didn't feel right. Daryl looked up at the stars. "M' sorry I was such a asshole to you, T-Dog. M' sorry I asked you if you were gay an' I'm sorry I gave you shit for touchin' me. I'm sorry I fucked up an' don't you worry 'bout nothin', 'cause Shane is sure 'nuff gonna pay for what he done. Most a' all, I hope you're in a good place now, brother."

Daryl placed the tarp over T-Dog and walked over to the row of graves to retrieve his gun belt. The fire had died down and there were only a few pieces of charred bone left to indicate that there had been a pile of walkers there a couple of hours before.

Daryl grabbed his crossbow up from off of the ground as he headed for the porch. He was covered with dirt and blood and he removed his boots and stripped down on the porch by the kitchen door. He rolled his clothes into a bundle and pushed his shirt against his dressing to soak up any blood that might have a tendency to drip on the floor once he was inside. He then went into the kitchen and once inside, he locked the door behind him.

Daryl's first stop was the laundry room, where he dumped his clothes in a heap on top of the washing machine. He then entered his bedroom and laid his crossbow against the chair by the closet and holster belt on the dresser, carefully removing each pistol and laying it next to the holster.

He was exhausted and filthy. He stepped into the bathroom and pulled a dark blue towel and a dark blue washcloth out of the linen closet. The color would hide any bloodstains that didn't come out in the wash. He chuckled at the very idea that he would be thinking about such a thing or that it would even matter to him.

He looked down at the blood soaked bandage and started picking at the taped edges. He finally got one edge up and pulled it down and off. He tossed the bloody bandage into the garbage can and assessed the damages. Half of the stitches were useless as they had been torn from the skin on both sides and in one spot the incision gaped open almost a half an inch, exposing the stitches in the abdominal muscles. No wonder it fuckin' hurt.

Daryl started the shower and adjusted the temperature. He knew he wasn't supposed to get the sutures wet, but dammit, he was dirty and if he just washed the open part of the incision out with soap and rinsed it really well, is should be okay. Right? Then he'd go up to the med room, grab a surgical needle and sew the damned thing up himself. It wasn't like he'd never had to stitch one of his wounds before.

He stepped under the shower and let the hot water wash the dirt and blood off his body. The bandage on his head fell off and floated merrily towards the drain and he brought his hand up to the gash on his head. He felt the small hairless patch and the stitches that he hadn't realized were there.

He smiled. That Hershel was a tricky bastard and damn, he'd put a nice bald patch on his head. He felt around a bit more and realized that there was enough hair growing above the spot and it was plenty long enough to cover the spot. Neither T-Dog nor Hershel had mentioned anything about the stitches in his head. His smile widened. Of course they didn't; they didn't want to be in shouting range when he discovered and exploded over the shaved patch on his head.

Daryl watched the blood tinged water swirl down the drain. He let the water beat on his incision and the exposed muscle. It hurt like hell, but at least it would be clean. He washed his hair, gently massaging his scalp and picking tiny pieces of skull fragments out of the hair on the right side of his head. Fucking hell. T-Dog had been nothing but decent to him and now he was gone and dammit, if Hershel had listened and let Daryl stay alone….No, this wasn't Hershel's fault. Focus, Daryl, focus. This was _Shane's_ fault and Shane was going to pay, so take a deep breath and finish your damned shower so you can take one of those morphine tabs and go to fuckin' bed.

Daryl rinsed off and shut off the shower. He rubbed his hair in the dark blue towel and then wrapped it around his waist. The incision was bleeding again, so he grabbed a dark blue hand towel from the linen closet and pressed it against it. He jumped as a sharp pain jabbed his wound and grit his teeth. He waited for it to pass. Okay, enough. He was going to have a pain pill and have it _now_. He could still sew if he was just taking one. It would take a little while to work, anyway.

Daryl walked into the bedroom and opened the nightstand drawer T-Dog had left another bottle of morphine tablets on the dresser, but Daryl couldn't see opening a new bottle until the ones in the bottle in his nightstand were gone. He opened the bottle that he'd pulled from the nightstand and popped the white tablet in his mouth, chasing it down with the half full glass of water on the night stand.

He sighed. Now came the fun part. Climbing the stairs to the med room.

It took a bit longer than ten minutes to get to the med room. The action of stepping up the stairs pulled the open incision open further and Daryl had to stop every few stairs to grasp the railing, ride out the pain and clear his head. Shit, but it hurt.

He flipped on the light in the med room and rummaged around on a shelf that held various typed of surgical tools. He found a box with sterile suture kits and grabbed two of them after checking needle sizes. He grabbed a bottle of betadine, too, and then started the trip back to his room.

He held the railing tight as he descended the stairs. A wave of dizziness hit him and he sat down on the step behind him. He'd be damned if he was going to fall down the damned stairs. The surgical wound was starting to hurt worse, if that was possible and he didn't understand that. He had taken the damned morphine tablet over twenty minutes ago. It should be doing _something._

He finally reached the bottom of the stairs and walked slowly to his room and into his bathroom. He pulled the towel from his waist and draped it over the toilet seat and sat down.

Daryl cursed as he tried to thread the damned needle. His hands were trembling and he kept missing the needle's eye. He laughed scornfully at himself. "If yer too damned shaky ta thread a needle, what the hell is the stitchin' gonna look like?" The thread finally found its way through the needle's eye and Daryl held the needle in his right hand and leaned back. He squirted some betadine on the wound site rinsing away the blood that still oozed from it and shit, did it burn! He patted the wound with a piece of gauze, then pulled the patch of useless stitches out and tossed them into the garbage can. He took a deep breath, held the two sides of the incision in his skin together as best as he could with his left hand and poked the needle through his skin. He had to go a bit wider than Hershel had, as the stitches Hershel had put in had ripped through the skin and left something that resembled a fringe made of skin.

"Sumthin' that freaky guy in "Jeepers Creepers" might wear." Imaginary Merle observed.

'Yeah', thought Daryl, 'sumthin' just like that.'

Daryl finished up the stitches and tied them off. He had forgotten to grab scissors and he'd be damned if he was going to go back to the fuckin' third floor for them, so he grumbled and walked into his bedroom, retrieved his hunting knife from the nightstand drawer and cut the suture string. He put the knife back in its sheath and tossed it into the drawer. That's when he noticed the bottle of Tylenol. He couldn't take another morphine pill, not for a couple of hours and dammit, it sure as hell didn't seem to be working, anyway, so a couple of Tylenol might help and sure as hell wouldn't hurt. He shook four of them into his hand, then put one back. Hopefully, three would take the edge off a bit, anyway, and then this damn super slow acting morphine would kick in. Daryl grabbed his water glass, and holding the pills in his other hand, he went back into the bathroom. He filled the glass with water and swallowed the three tablets, then bandaged his new stitches. He brushed his teeth and then left the bathroom, flipping off the light as he left the room.

He sat down in the chair by the closet and reached down and brought up his crossbow. He had just waxed the damned string, he would have noticed if there was a weakness, wouldn't he? He had been using a crossbow for years, hell, a couple decades and he'd always changed the strings before they were too old or too worn or damaged. He had never had a string snap._ Never_. He ran the waxed string through his fingers, it was strong, no fraying, no weaknesses. Finally he inspected the broken ends. His brow furrowed and he brought the ends up closer to his eyes. _What. The. Fuck_. Notched. The string had been _notched_. Whoever had done it had tried to hide their handiwork by re-spreading the string wax, but all that had done was call more attention to the notch, as the wax had settled into the fresh cut, making it stand out. Daryl stared at the notched string. It all made sense.

Walkers would show up in the yard inside the fence. Daryl would grab his crossbow. He'd go outside to take care of the walkers, fire at one, the string would break and viola! Daryl Dixon becomes a walker extra value meal and Shane is rid of him.

Yeah, Shane was going to reap it, and it was going to _hurt_.

Daryl laid the crossbow against the chair and stood up. That damned morphine pill was finally starting to work. The incision pain was fading and he was starting to feel a bit tired. Of course, that could just be from dragging walkers around and digging graves alone. Daryl slid one of the Blackhawks under his pillow and climbed into bed. He rolled onto his right side and clutched a pillow to his chest. Damn, all of the sudden he was so tired. As he closed his eyes, he could hear T-Dog's voice, "Staying here with you tonight. I thought we could pop some popcorn, watch a movie, talk, maybe have a pillow fight."

Daryl hugged the pillow tighter and tears started to slip from his eyes. Dixon's weren't supposed to cry, crying showed weakness, only pussies cried.

Daryl didn't care. He was exhausted and he was hurt, but those were not reasons to shed tears. He'd lost someone today, someone who actually seemed to like him, who enjoyed spending time with him and who he was beginning to let himself get close to. It hurt. It hurt a lot.

T-Dog hadn't deserved this. Daryl cried for T-Dog, cried for the life cut short, cried for the loss of his friend. He was exhausted and sore and alone and so the hell what if he couldn't push down the sadness that overwhelmed him or keep his emotions in check. His breath hitched in his chest and he sobbed. Then, for the first time in more than twenty-five years, Daryl Dixon cried himself to sleep.


	29. Chapter 29

Carol tried to push her way around Maggie and enter the room, too, but Rick was already closing the door in her face. She grabbed the doorknob to open the door but Shane put his hand over hers and gently pulled it away. "Y'all know how Daryl is, if we all crowd in there it'll make him nervous. Let Rick check things out, first."

Carol pursed her lips, "I have just as much right to be in there as Rick does. I just want to make sure he's okay," she snapped.

"And I'm sure Rick will let us know what's going on, but you don't want to go busting in there all unannounced! You said you found his clothes on the washing machine and they were wet. For all you know, he might not be dressed. Calm down, take a few deep breaths and _relax_," he added "you stupid bitch" in his mind. What the hell was it with Carol that made her gravitate towards losers like Ed and Daryl? If she was that dumb, he thought, she probably deserved every beating that shit-ass husband of hers had given her.

Daryl was dead. Rick was sure of it. He was on his back, spread eagled on the bed and he was as white as the pillow his head rested on. Even his normally tanned face and arms appeared pale. A thin ribbon of blood ran from the right corner of his mouth down the side of his face and had dripped onto the light blue quilt beneath it, creating a small bright red almost perfectly round, wet stain on it. His lips were a pale purple/blue as were his fingertips and his toes. Rick grabbed Daryl's right wrist and moved his fingers, searching for a pulse, sure he wouldn't find one. Daryl's skin was cold and clammy and Rick could feel his own heart beating faster in his chest. Why the hell hadn't he checked on Daryl when he first got there and where the hell was T-Dog?

Rick was having a hard time locating a pulse at Daryl's wrist, so he placed two fingers against Daryl's neck, feeling for a pulse there as he placed his head on Daryl's chest to listen for a heartbeat.

Daryl startled at the sudden pressure on his chest and Rick jumped back. Daryl slowly sat up a bit and leaned back on his elbows and glared at Rick. "What the fuck?" he asked, his voice raspy and sleepy.

Rick sighed with relief. "You scared the living shit out of me man. I thought for sure you were dead. Look at you! You look like a damned ghost."

Daryl squinted at him. It was hard to see, like there was too much light in the room, practically blinding him.

That's when Rick noticed it. Daryl's pupils were just pinpoints and his breathing was slow and shallow. Suddenly, everything started to add up. The sleepiness. The pale, cold, clammy skin and the blue lips, fingertips and toes. The slow, shallow breathing and the bleeding from the mouth. It all made sense.

Daryl sat up and noticed he wasn't dressed yet and he pulled the part of the quilt next to him over his legs and his hips. Shit, this was embarrassing.

"What the hell you doin' here so fuckin' early?" he mumbled as he smoothed out the quilt. "Ain't even dressed yet."

"Daryl, I know Hershel gave you a bottle of morphine tablets for pain. When was the last time you took any and how many did you take?"

Daryl scratched his head, careful to avoid his stitches. "Took one... a bit after midnight. Fuckin' thing took forever to work. Din't need one this mornin', pain wan't too bad, took a few...Tylenol instead. Figured I wouldn't be so damned… tired with the Tylenol. What the hell you doin' here so early?" he asked again and yawned.

"Daryl, it's almost 1:30pm! Where is T-Dog?"

Daryl's head was spinning and he sank back down into his pillows and shifted, careful to keep himself covered, so he was lying on his right side, facing Rick. Rick was crouched next to the bed and he leaned in so his face was about a foot and a half from Daryl's. It made Daryl nervous; Rick was too close and he was most certainly bullshitting him about the time.

He shook his head and was hit with a bout of dizziness. He closed his eyes. "Can't be… that late. Should be 'bout… 8:30, 9:00 in the mornin'," he mumbled and started to drift off to sleep again.

Rick had been a police officer long enough to recognize the symptoms of a morphine overdose.

He looked at the bottle of Tylenol on the nightstand and then opened the drawer. The bottle of morphine tablets was in there.

"Daryl? _Daryl_?"

Daryl didn't bother to open his eyes. "Hmmm?"

"When did you take the Tylenol and how many did you take?"

Daryl was quiet and Rick thought he'd fallen asleep again, and then he spoke, "'Bit after midnight …took three of 'em. This mornin'… about 8:00….took…. four of 'em."

Rick opened the bottle of Tylenol and shook a couple of them out into his hand. He recognized them for what they were immediately.

"_Dammit_, Daryl, do you think I'm stupid?! These are _not_ Tylenol tablets! Don't you fuck with me! Daryl! _Daryl_?!"

Daryl was asleep again. Rick was furious. He stood up and marched over to the bedroom door and stuck his head out. Carol, Maggie, Andrea and Shane were all crowded around the door and Carol strained to see around Rick and to get a glimpse of Daryl.

"He's stoned out of his damned mind on painkillers…." Rick sounded completely pissed off.

"I knew he was a doper, I just knew it." Shane's disgust was evident in his voice. "Number 13, huh? I'm not one bit surprised."

"Yeah, well, I need to talk to him a bit more, so why don't y'all just busy yourselves for a few minutes. Shane, I'd appreciate it if you'd check third floor for T-Dog. I'm beginning to worry. It doesn't make sense that he wouldn't be here. He knew we were coming. "

Carol glared at Rick. "I want to see Daryl, _now_." She said as she tried to push herself through the space Rick had opened up as he peeked out into the hall.

"Carol, I don't think…"

"Rick, I don't _care_ what you think," Carol snapped. "I want to see him now and I'm darned well going to!" She pushed past Rick, walked a few steps and stopped. Her eyes fell onto where Daryl was curled on his right side, sleeping on the biggest bed Carol had ever seen. She approached the bed and her heart sank. He was so pale and she hadn't noticed before how much thinner he was than he he'd been when she first met him and his crazy brother. His skin was a patchwork of bruises and scars, and his neck, his whole neck was one big fading bruise. Part of the bandage over his incision peeked out from where the quilt was partially draped over it.

Rick had closed the door and he lowered himself into the chair next to the closet and watched as Carol approached Daryl.

Carol reached out and put her hand on Daryl's left shoulder. His skin was cold to the touch. She reached over him to pull the quilt up higher on him, and then stopped when she saw how the lower half of his body was twisted in the sheets and the quilt. She squinted her eyes. Good heavens, was he..? Her eyes started at his feet and followed the sheet and part of the blanket that covered the back of his legs upward. The bed linens came up almost to his waist in the front, but had only been pulled up partially in the back, totally exposing more than half of his blindingly white left butt cheek. He was. Carol blushed a deep red.

Rick saw this and smirked . If the woman had just given him a minute instead of barging in, he would have made sure Daryl was properly covered up.

Carol rested her hand on Daryl's shoulder again. Outside of being incredibly pale, he looked almost peaceful. The scowl he wore most of the time was gone and the angry furrowed brow she was so used to seeing was smooth. She smiled. He was so….clean. She'd never seen him this clean. His hair was lighter than she had always thought and she wondered it if was because it was now free of dirt and grime and pine needles and road dust. She ran her hand down his arm, tracing the outline of the well defined and solid muscles there.

Rick rolled his eyes. He was going to make some rude comment along the lines of asking Carol if she wanted him to leave and she could call him back into the room when she was done petting Daryl; but he didn't need Carol pissed off at him and telling the whole group that he'd said something like that to her.

Carol's hand moved up and stroked Daryl's hair.

She shrieked as his left hand shot up and grabbed her by the wrist. Hard.

"Stop…._pettin'_ me!" he snarled. He saw that it was Carol that had been doing the offensive touching and he let go of her wrist and pushed it away from himself. Daryl narrowed his eyes at her and she shrank back away from his furious, hateful and slightly glassy glare.

"I was worried about y..you," Carol stuttered, "…I just.."

"You need to stop worryin'….. 'bout shit…. that ain't _none_ a your concern!" Daryl's angry and loud voice grew progressively quieter and slower. He was fighting sleep and losing. "I fucked ….up.. I didn't find …..your daughter. I'm a fuckin'…. failure. I know…know that…so why… why you gotta.. keep on …_torturin'_ me? I'm sorry. Said….. I was.. sorry. Know I….fucked up. Get…..out. Jus' go. Don't want …you…here. Re….remindin'….me." The last words were whispered as he closed his eyes and sank back into his pillow.

"But Daryl…"

"Get.. _out_," came a muffled voice from the depths of the pillow.

Rick got up and opened the bedroom door, standing against the doorway, indicating that Carol should do as Daryl had said.

Carol wrung her hands, took one last look at Dary, gave Rick a dirty look and headed for the door. Rick closed it behind her once she'd exited the room.

Rick pulled the chair by the closet over next to the nightstand, facing the bed. It was heavy and took a bit of effort, and when he had it situated next to the bed, he collapsed into it. He leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his hands. Was the man in front of him a narcotics addict? Had he really taken four of those 60mg Oramorph tablets this morning after taking three the night before? Even after ingesting that amount of morphine, Rick was convinced that Daryl was going to be okay. The minimal amount of Morphine required for a fatal overdose was 210 mg. If the overdose hadn't killed him hours ago, it wasn't likely that it was going to now. These tablets weren't timed release tablets. They kicked in full strength shortly after you took them.

Was Daryl trying to kill himself? Where was T-Dog? He was supposed to be keeping an eye on Daryl. That was the whole reason for having him spend the night at the house. Why the hell were the morphine tablets in the Tylenol bottle? Why would Daryl put them there? Hershel had given him a whole bottle of the morphine pills, so why would he feel the need to hide them? It didn't make sense. Rick decided it was time for some answers and if he had to be a dick to get them, so be it.

"Hey, Daryl," he said in a normal tone of voice. He wasn't going to be quiet and pussyfoot around. He wanted some answers and he wanted them _now_. "Daryl!"

Daryl jerked his eyes open and looked wearily at Rick. "Whatcha..want?" he mumbled.

"I want some answers and you're going to give them to me. First question. Where is T-Dog?"

Daryl's half opened eyes met Rick's and what was that look on the hunter's face. Was it sorrow? Regret? Guilt?

Daryl tried to pull himself into an upright position but damn, it made him dizzy. He felt Rick grip his upper arm and steady him and although the initial touch made him flinch, he didn't pull away or push Rick off. He straightened up, took a deep breath and Rick released his arm. Daryl met Rick's blue eyes with his own.

Rick sat back again and looked at Daryl expectantly.

"We got attacked.. by walkers. He got…bit. Bit real bad. "

"_Where is he now_?!" Rick demanded.

Daryl looked at his hands and rubbed the star tattoo on his right hand with his left thumb. "Buried by the family used to live here. "

"And you didn't _tell_ me this?!" Rick shouted as he leaped to his feet. Rick was feeling all kinds of emotions at once; disbelief, sadness and white hot rage towards Daryl. He wanted to hit the man. Hard.

Daryl brought his eyes up to meet Rick's only this time they were full of anger as well as hurt. "Not like I could fuckin' _call you up_ on the phone or nothin'!" he yelled. Adrenaline was kicking in, kicking the ass of any hints of drowsiness he'd been feeling. Thirty seconds later, Daryl Dixon was wideafuckin'wake and after the last shitty 24 hours he had experienced, he wasn't in the mood to take any crap from _anyone_.

"Why the _hell_ were you outside of the fence!? You guys didn't have any reason to go outside the fence! Couldn't you just stay in the damned yard for _one fucking day_?! Christ, you just had _surgery_!"

Daryl's anger entered the red zone and he could actually _feel_ his blood pressure rising. "_W'ant like that_!" He roared. "_They got inside th' fence_! They was in th' _back yard_! Three of 'em behind th' garage! You think I'm a fuckin' _moron_? You think I'd go _lookin'_ to take out walkers after havin' my guts rearranged?! _Fuck you, Grimes_, _just fuck you_."

Rick put his right hand on his hip and scratched his head with his left hand. He stared at the man in front of him. Daryl was red in the face and trembling like a wound up spring ready to snap. He reminded Rick of a rabid pit-bull. Rick took a deep breath and exhaled audibly. He sat back down in the chair and his eyes met Daryl's again. "Okay," he said, in a clear and calm voice. "What happened?"

Daryl told Rick about the walkers that had congregated outside the fence and how T-Dog had seen them when he was bringing some frozen food into the house. Rick felt a small smile play on his lips for just a second. That sounded just like T-Dog. The freezer in the house was almost packed full, but T-Dog wanted a better selection of frozen goodies to choose from. Rick closed his eyes and shook his head when Daryl related how the walker was right behind T-Dog right then and how his bowstring had snapped and he'd been too late to save T-Dog when he drew his revolvers.

"Why didn't he use the damned crowbars to defend himself." Rick asked, incredulous that the man had two crowbars in his possession and still was taken down by a walker.

Daryl bit his lower lip and looked at the floor. "Dropped 'em both when ah hollered fer him ta duck," he said quietly.

He told Rick how T-Dog had been bleeding heavily and that he'd asked for one of Daryl's Blackhawks. Rick saw the hunters eyes water as he spoke T-Dog's last words to him. Daryl closed his eyes for a moment to regain his composure, ran the back of his hand across his eyes and then continued. He told Rick about the open gate and the crude ramp and then finding the notched crossbow string when he inspected the weapon after the string had failed.

There was a knock on the bedroom door and Shane's voice came into the room. "Rick? You need to come out here for a minute."

"Can't it wait?" Rick spoke loudly towards the door.

"No, it can't wait. You need to come out here _now_."

"Be right back," Rick told Daryl as he stood up from the chair.

"You might wanna put your boots on, pretty sure the shits gonna be deep." Daryl snarked.

Rick left the room and closed the door.

Daryl slid off the bed and rummaged through the two piles of clean clothes on his dresser. He was pulling his boxers on when it hit him. Carol had been in the room not too long ago. He vaguely remembered feeling her fingers running across his arm and then she was fucking _petting his head_ and what the hell was it about these people that made them want to _pet_ him? Did he look like a fucking _dog_ to them? Anyway, she'd been there putting her hands all over him and he hadn't been wearing a stitch of clothing. His face flushed a deep red and he felt, well, he felt violated. Not in a huge 'oh-my-God-I've-been-violated!' way, but in a 'wow, this makes me really uncomfortable' way. He remembered kicking her out of his room. He felt overwhelmed with guilt every time he saw her, so the easy solution was to make sure he never saw her. If she was going to be living under the same roof, that would be impossible, but he would make an effort to have as few interactions with her as possible.

* * *

Shane pulled Rick out onto the deck with an urgency that startled Rick. Rick noticed as he walked towards the table and chairs set that no one else was out on the deck.

Shane sat down and Rick sat across the table from him.

Shane spoke, "The ladies are upstairs arranging Andrea and Carol's bedroom. I wanted to talk to you privately. I took a walk around the back yard. There's a fresh grave back there with the other ones. I don't have a good feeling about this, Rick." He leaned back in the chair and waited for Rick's response.

Rick leaned forward and put his elbows on the table, resting his chin on his clasped hands. "Daryl said T-Dog got bit. He said he buried him after he died."

Shane sat forward, a look of disbelief on his face. "And you _believe_ that bullshit?! You said yourself; he's stoned out of his gourd. There aren't any signs out on that back lawn to indicate that there were any walkers out there, and how the hell would they have gotten in? There's a fence around the yard and the gate is closed!" He glared at Rick. "I'll tell ya what happened. T-Dog caught Daryl getting into the Vitamin M and confronted him. Daryl was higher than a kite and flew into a rage and killed him. Then he buried T-Dog and thought up a cockamamie story to cover his ass. He's fucking chasing the dragon and feeding you bullshit. _Please _don't tell me you're stupid enough to believe him. "

"T-Dog is a big fella and Daryl wasn't at 100%. I don't see how Daryl could take him." Rick looked across the table at his friend. At this point, he didn't know what the hell to believe. Dammit. T-Dog was gone. They'd lost someone else. And T-Dog….big, imposing, solid, smiling teddy bear T-Dog. Everyone liked T-Dog. He was friendly, helpful, funny and kind. He was going to be sorely missed.

"You don't _need_ to be at 100% when you've got a crossbow and you're packing heat. Come on, Rick, are you blind? Dixon is high, you know that the Dixons are racists, there's no body for us to examine to confirm Daryl's story, no sign of walkers ever being in the back yard, and no witnesses. " Shane paused for a moment and then continued. "Daryl had surgery yesterday. I can't imagine feeling up to digging a large enough grave to hold a person after having surgery earlier the same damned day. Can you? And why the hell would he do that? He knew we were coming today. He could have waited and we would have helped. No, Rick. He was highly motivated for some reason to dig that hole, even as he was bleeding through a side full of stitches. This just stinks like a bucket of catfish after a day in the sun. Daryl killed T-Dog. It's obvious. Now he's trying to get away with it. Are you going to _let_ him?"

Rick was going to bring up the fact that Daryl had claimed to have taken the Morphine believing it to be Tylenol, but he held his tongue. He also decided not to mention what Daryl had said about his crossbow being tampered with. He had something else he needed to check out before he said anything about those things to anyone.

"Tell you what. Let's go into the back yard and I'll take a look around with you, see if there is any trace at all of walkers and then we'll figure out what to do about Daryl."

Shane smiled. Rick had said "_we'll_ figure out what to do about Daryl." Shane liked the sound of that.

**WARNING: You'll never get back the moments of your life spent reading this story. Yes, I am a stinker to remind you of that. **


	30. Chapter 30

Rick and Shane came back into the house and Shane headed in the direction of the kitchen, expecting Rick to follow.

Rick stopped just in front of the door. "Shane, I told Daryl I'd be right back," he explained. "I'm just going to stick my head in the door and tell him I'm going to be a while."

Shane rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said.

He entered the kitchen as Maggie was bending over peeking into the oven as she held the oven door open a crack.

Shane had smelled something baking when he came in the front door. It smelled wonderful. He searched his memory, trying to figure out what it was as the pleasant odor mixed with the smell of fresh brewed coffee. 'Peaches,' he thought. 'Peach pie or peach cobbler or something with peaches in it.'

Maggie glanced over and saw him standing there, arms folded across his chest, waiting for Rick. She closed the oven door, straightened up and smiled at him.

Shane smiled back. "What on earth are you makin', missy? It smells great."

Maggie's smile widened. "Peach cobbler. It was my grandmother's recipe. This won't be nearly as good as hers, though. I had to use canned peaches." She motioned to some of the cupboards next to the dishwasher. "There's all sorts of vacuum sealed plastic bags with flour, sugar, brown sugar and jars of spices here. I thought it might be a nice treat. I had to use powdered milk and powdered eggs, though. I hope it comes out okay."

"I'm sure it will be just fine. Better than fine."

Rick came into the kitchen. "Something smells reaaaaally good."

"Peach cobbler," Shane said.

Rick smiled at Maggie. "Thank you Maggie! So what did you make for everyone else?"

Maggie laughed and pointed a finger at Rick. "Rick Grimes, this peach cobbler is _not_ just for you! Didn't your momma teach you to share?" She went to the sink to wash her hands as Shane and Rick headed towards the back door. "I'm going to make a chicken vegetable stir fry and some rice for us all for a late lunch," she called over her shoulder, "so be back here in about an hour."

The men called back that they would.

Maggie brewed another cup of coffee and put two strawberry pop tarts into the toaster. She wiped off the shelves and washed the bowls and the wooden spoon she had used to make the cobbler with and then pulled a large iron skillet out of the drawer under the stove and placed it on the counter. The green light on the coffee maker came on indicating the coffee was done. Maggie took a large wooden cutting board out of a cupboard and placed the two mugs of black coffee on it. The pop tarts popped up and she slid a small plate next to the toaster and fished them out by the top edges and tossed them on the plate, careful to do it quickly as not to burn her fingers on the hot pastries. She grabbed two spoons, a fork, a handful of sugar packets and the jar of Coffee Mate and arranged them on the cutting board with the coffee and the pop tarts. The last thing she placed on the tray was the bottle of antibiotics she had found on the kitchen shelf when she'd arrived at the house earlier that day. Maggie smiled and lifted her makeshift breakfast tray and walked into the dining room and then into the great room. In a few seconds she was standing outside of Daryl's bedroom and she knocked on the door. There was no answer. "Daryl? Are you awake?"

"No," came the gruff voiced answer through the door.

"I need to check your dressing."

She heard Daryl moving around in room and then he spoke, "Okay. C'mon in."

She opened the door and entered the room, bearing the cutting board tray and its contents. She placed it on the corner of the dresser and turned and smiled at him.

He nodded towards the 'tray'. "Whutsat?"

"Food. Well, sort of….and coffee…and more importantly," she picked up the bottle of pills and shook it at him, "antibiotics."

"Your dad does that too, " he said to her as he chewed on a thumbnail. "Must 'a got it from your Dad."

"Does what?" Maggie asked as she picked up the plate of pop tarts and approached where Daryl sat on the edge of the bed.

"Shakes bottles a pills at me. Like theys a weapon or sumthin'." He looked at the plate she held out to him. "What's this?" he asked her.

"I told you already, food. Sort of. I'm willing to bet you haven't eaten anything today, have you?" She thrust the plate towards him.

He brought up his hands and waved her off and sighed. "You know, you're gonna wish you weren't bein' so nice to me. Pretty obvious Rick ain't told you."

Maggie put the plate with the pop tarts on it on the nightstand next to the bed and laid the fork down on top of them. "What do you take in your coffee, creamer, sugar?" She stepped back over to the tray and put creamer in her own coffee and stirred it. "Rick hasn't told me what?"

"T-Dog got bit. He's dead."

Maggie turned to him, wide eyed, a horrified look on her face. "What? When?"

Daryl stopped chewing his nail and raised his eyes to meet hers. "Last night. Walkers were in the back yard, behind the garage. Didn't see 'em 'til they was almost on 'im. "

"Oh no! Oh Daryl! This is terrible!" Maggie sat down on the bed next to him.

He moved to scoot away from her and she slid in the other direction, away from him. The last thing she wanted to do was to make him feel more uncomfortable than he already was.

"Are you okay?" She asked.

"Me? _Me_? Are you kiddin'? Who th' fuck cares? T-Dogs gone. My fault. Shoulda seen em' sooner, shoulda pulled my guns 'stead a' usin' the bow." He closed his eyes and sighed.

Maggie wanted to put an arm around his shoulders, to tell him it was okay, this was the end of the world and the dead were rising and eating the living and that it wasn't his fault. It wasn't and who the fuck cared that he was okay? They all did. Even Shane had proved that he cared about what happened to Daryl by stepping up and giving blood to him. Right?

"I'm sure it isn't your fault, Daryl." She felt a tear run down her cheek. T-Dog. He was funny, kind, soft spoken and friendly. A gentle giant. He would be greatly missed.

"You don't know." Daryl growled." You weren't there!"

Maggie swallowed and dared to take a peek in Daryl's direction. His face was turned to the wall behind the bed, looking away from her. "Daryl, T-Dog told me more than once about you saving him. Saving him twice. I'm sure you did everything you could last night. It's just that…sometimes we do everything that we can and it just isn't enough." She wanted to touch him, put her hand on his shoulder, on his arm, do _something_ that would seem comforting, but she knew better. You didn't touch Daryl Dixon unless:

1. You had a very good reason to touch him

2. He knew you were going to touch him, and

3. You had his permission to touch him

A moment went by where neither Daryl nor Maggie said anything. Maggie cleared her throat, "Um…Daryl…can I take a look at your incision? Maybe clean it off and redress it? We both know my Dad will ask about it when I get back to the farm."

Daryl sighed. "'Spose so. Sure." He started unbuttoning his shirt and Maggie stood up and stepped over to where the coffee sat on the dresser. "What do you take in your coffee?" she asked for the second time.

"Nothin'", he said as he held his shirt out, reaching next to him to hang it on the bedpost.

She handed Daryl the cup of black coffee and said, "Daryl, the antibiotics you're supposed to be taking were in the kitchen. Have you taken any at all since yesterday? 'cause if you haven't, you really need to take a dose right now. You don't want that incision getting infected." When he shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, she picked up the bottle of pills, opened it and shook two of the pills into her hand. "I'll get you a glass of water," she volunteered.

"No, no, cripes, you don't hafta do that. Jus' give 'em over, I can take 'em with coffee." She handed him the pills and he swallowed them with a mouthful of the coffee. The coffee was good and strong and he took another swallow of it before he put the mug down on the nightstand. "you make a good cup a coffee. Prolly could stand a spoon up in it. "

Maggie smiled, "Yes, it's a very special skill. I'm really good at pushing buttons on coffee makers."

She took another sip of her coffee and then looked over at Daryl and said, "but you know what I'm better at?"

Daryl looked perplexed. Was this a trick question? He almost blurted out something mildly inappropriate like "no, but I'm sure Glenn does," but he just answered, "No".

Maggie grinned and said, "I'm better at changing dressings."

Daryl looked down at his dressing and lifted his left arm up out of the way. "Okay, fine, have a look."

Maggie bent over and looked at the blood stained bandage. "Okay, yes, isn't that nice. Now lie down and let me change it. "

"What, you can't change it if I sit right here like this?" Daryl put his hands behind him on the bed and leaned back a bit, stretching out his torso.

Maggie rolled her eyes at him. "Just lie down, I promise it won't take very long."

Daryl sighed and swung his legs up onto the bed. He moved over to the opposite side of the bed so his left side would be against the edge of it. That would make it easier for Maggie to take care of the wound. Daryl put his left arm on a pillow above his head and right in front of the headboard to give Maggie clearer access to his bandage. Daryl like the way she just ripped the damned thing off; none of this pussyfooting around and peeling it off slowly; just rip it off and get things done. He heard her gasp.

"Daryl Dixon! Did you pull these stitches?" She did not sound impressed.

"I stitched them back up as best I could." he grumbled.

Maggie sighed. "Oh Daryl, what happened? Did the lower layer stitches get pulled, too? No, they couldn't have. Well, to be honest, you didn't do a half bad job of restitching the sutures."

"Nah, no lower stitches come undone."

Maggie cleaned the sutures with betadine and antiseptic wipes and then bandaged the site again.

She was taping the bandage when she started noticing the scars that lined his chest like odd little roads and highways She had noticed them before, but, until assisting her father the day before in surgery, she had never been 'up close and personal' with Daryl's scars. Some of them terrified her. Her eyes fell onto the one that started on his right starting just below his collarbone and stretching across most of the length of his chest. It was a dull pinkish brown and wide, about ¼ of an inch in spots and a bit over a foot long. How had he gotten i? What was its story? How old had he been and what offense had he been found guilty of by the person responsible for this permanent reminder of pain inflicted long ago.

She felt his hand touch her cheek before she saw it, so caught up in her examination of the jagged, raised and discolored skin that she hadn't realized she was staring at it and that he had seen her staring.

"Please, don't," he said softly as he tilted her head towards his face so she wasn't looking at that terrible, ugly scar.

She looked into his vivid blue eyes and cringed at the depth of emotion they expressed. She'd never seen eyes that looked so haunted, so sad.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He looked away from her. "Don't want your pity." he said roughly.

"Daryl, you don't have my pity. I don't know what happened to you and its none of my business, but I'm going to say this and say it just once and I don't care if you want to hear it or not. You are one of the toughest and most resourceful men I've ever met and I think that whatever awful things you went through helped to make you that way, so no, I don't pity you. Not at all; but I do pity the person you were when these things happened to you. This one here," she ghosted her finger along the scar she had been examining with her eyes, the largest one she'd seen on him. "It just breaks my heart."

He sat up and looked at her like she was crazy and growled. "Breaks your heart, my ass. Don't be sayin' that shit. For all you know, I mighta deserved every damned one a the marks on my body. You don't know me; you don't know me at _all_."

Maggie stood up and walked around to the other side of the bed, throwing the bandage papers and the old dressing into the garbage can.

She turned and glared at him, her eyes fiery and her cheeks flushed with anger. "You know, you're right, Daryl, I don't know you at all, but I do know that _nobody_ deserves to be sliced up like _that_. Enjoy your damned pop tarts." With that she grabbed up the cutting board tray exited his room and slammed the door.

"Take a fuckin' Midol!" he shouted after her. Shit. He had just pissed off Hershel's daughter. He fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. "Great," he muttered to himself. "Fuckin' great."

"Well," laughed Imaginary Merle. "let's see what else ya can fuck up today."

* * *

Rick was crouched in the back yard near where there had obviously been a sizable fire. He poked his finger at a few small, blackened objects littering the ground where the fire had burned. He looked up at Shane who was standing over him. "These are bone fragments. There are quite a few of them, too. These support Daryl's story about burning a pile of dead walkers.

"Oh c'mon Rick, are you serious? He took out two of them when he cleared the war room. These fragments are probably from those two."

Rick stood up and waved his hand out over the blackened patch of ground. "Look at the diameter of this fire, Shane! There were a lot more than two walkers burning here. "

"Okay, so how was he able to gather them all up and burn them? Are we supposed to believe that, in his condition last night, Daryl was able to drag and pull a dozen or so walkers around, stack them into a pile and burn them? Do you think he's fucking Superman, now?" Shane walked over to the garage and pointed to the ground near the garage side door. He motioned to the ground there. "No blood, Rick. Daryl says this is where T-Dog was attacked. Where is all the blood?"

Rick ran a hand through his hair and then shook his head at Shane. "It rained last night Shane. The rain could have washed the blood away."

"You've got an excuse for him for everything, don't you? Why, Rick? Just tell me _why_? Why is it so hard for you to believe that Daryl killed T-Dog?"

"He saved the man's life twice. The first time at the risk of his own. Why would he kill someone he'd already gone out of his way to save? "

Shane threw up his hands in frustration. "Because last night he was more stoned than Hendrix at Woodstock, dammit! What part of that can you not understand? People do shit they normally wouldn't do when they're out of their mind on drugs. You know that. I know that. We've seen it. How many calls did we go out on where some upstanding citizen who'd never been in trouble with the law went ape-shit and murdered their spouse, or a friend, a family member, hell, their own damned kid, because they were fucked up and had a bad trip. Shit like that happened all the time!"

"There are tattered pieces of camouflage clothing caught in the chain links of the fence over where Daryl said the geeks were pushing, trying to get in. How would you explain that?" Rick asked.

"The walkers from the war room were wearing camouflage. Maybe he took some of their clothing and-"

"Oh come on, Shane! You think Daryl _planted _pieces of clothing in the fence links to shore up his story? Now that is _ridiculous_!"

Shane shrugged. "I don't know. I wouldn't put it past the dopehead weasel."

Rick ran his hand across the stubble on his chin. "What about that ramp over by the gate. You think Daryl set that up, too?"

"Of course he did. It didn't appear magically, did it?"

Rick sighed. "Well," he said. "There is _one_ way we could be sure that T was bit by a walker."

Shane looked confused for a minute, then he realized what Rick was implying and his eyes widened. "No, not that, man. That just, well, it just isn't right."

"Okay. Let me talk to Daryl some more. I'll see if I can't get some more information from him. He may have been so messed up last night that he doesn't really even know what happened."

Shane kicked a bone fragment and it skipped across the lawn. "Okay. I'm going to go upstairs and start arranging my room a bit. Let me know if you need me."

"Rick clapped Shane on the shoulder. "I will, I will…and hey, you were supposed to take it easy today, remember? Sit by the water, work on the tan?"

Shane smiled. "You know, I might just take that boat out for a ride."

* * *

Daryl buttoned his shirt and grabbed his holster belt off the dresser. He fastened it around his waist and was checking the chamber on the first of the two Blackhawks when there was a knock at his door.

"Whatdaya want?" he said loudly.

"To talk some more."

It was Rick.

Daryl put the pistol he was holding back on the dresser. "C'mon in."

Rick entered the room and closed the door behind him. He looked at Daryl who was unbuckling the gun holster that was around his waist. He thought Daryl still looked more pale than usual, but he looked 100% better than he had when Rick had first seen him earlier that afternoon. Rick watched him put the holder belt back on the dresser. "Were you going somewhere?" Rick asked Daryl.

"Yeah, I was. You said you wanna talk?" Daryl sat at the foot of the bed and motioned for Rick to sit in the chair by the closet.

"Daryl, do you know that you could have died here this morning when no one was here? Do you know how damned much morphine you ingested in less than 8 hours? What the hell is going on? Do you _want _to die? Did you and T-Dog get into it last night and something happened that accidently killed him? Did you decide to bury him and then to kill yourself? Is that what this is all about? Is that what happened?"

Daryl scowled at Rick and Rick instantly recognized that look. That was the look Daryl had given him several months ago just before a string of dead squirrels had come flying in his direction.

Daryl reached again for his holster belt and once again fastened it around his waist. He holstered the Blackhawks and placed a small box of ammo in his jeans pocket.

"Well?" Rick asked.

Daryl didn't say a word, but walked to the door. Rick stepped in front of it.

Daryl sighed. "Best be gettin' outta my way, Rick."

"Answer my questions, Daryl, and I will."

Daryl glared at Rick and Rick thought that if looks could kill he'd be on the ground dead.

"You ain't asked a question yet that deserves to be dignified with an answer. Now get the hell outta my way."

Rick stepped aside. "I'm just trying to understand.." he began.

Daryl looked at Rick "No, no you' ain't." He stalked out of the room and Rick followed him. Daryl stormed through the great room, into the dining room and then into the kitchen where Maggie was stir frying chicken and vegetables.

She turned to Daryl as he came into the kitchen with Rick right on his heels. "Food will be ready in a few minutes." she said.

Daryl didn't say a word but stopped in front of the key holder and pulled a couple of keys off it.

Rick gave Maggie a quick smile. "Thanks, Maggie."

Daryl opened the kitchen door and walked out, right into Shane who was just reaching for the door to come in.

Daryl tried to push past him but Shane backed up.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" Shane asked him.

Rick came out the kitchen door onto the porch.

"None a your fuckin' business." Daryl snapped angling to get around Shane.

Shane grabbed Daryl's arm as he walked around him and pulled him to a stop.

"You best be lettin' go a' my arm, Walsh. We don't live under Martial law and you ain't no General. Now step the hell down."

Rick nodded to Shane and Shane let go of Daryl's arm.

Shane snorted. "I didn't think a dumbass bumpkin like you would even know what 'Martial law' meant."

Daryl walked toward the side of the fence closest to the driveway. "Well," he called over his shoulder. "I guess I ain't as dumb as you look."

It took Shane a second to catch the insult and when he did, Daryl was already over the fence.

Rick and Shane went into the house and Shane called up the stairs for Andrea and Carol to come down. They had some not so great news for them.

Rick went out on the deck and a few minutes later he heard the deep rumble of Daryl's Fat Boy as it headed up the driveway. He walked to the edge of the deck and watched the bike ascend the hill, the wings on Daryl's vest staying visible as the black motorcycle entered and blended with the shadows cast by the pines over the narrow road.

Rick knew he'd fucked up, but he also knew Daryl would be back. He hadn't taken anything but his Rugers with him. He probably just needed to go and cool off a bit.

Rick opened the door to Daryl's room and slipped inside. Carol and Andrea were washing up for their late lunch and he had a few minutes before having to sit down with them. He quietly walked over to Daryl's nightstand and opened the drawer. He had found that the bottle of Tylenol Daryl had in the drawer had morphine tablets in it. What was in the morphine bottle? He opened the bottle and dumped a couple of them into his hand. He looked at them and squinted. Tylenol. This was not making sense at all.

Rick dug around in the drawer some more and found a bottle of Oxycontin. He opened it and dumped a few pills into his hand. He looked at them and squinted. BAYER. Bayer? Aspirin? The bottle had aspirin in it? Aspirin. Surgical patients and especially internal bleeding patients were not allowed to have aspirin because it thinned the blood which could cause further internal bleeding. Aspirin also affected clotting factors that stopped bleeding after surgery. Aspirin could literally kill someone who was bleeding internally.

Okay, so there was Tylenol in the Morphine bottle and Morphine in the Tylenol bottle and aspirin in the Oxycontin bottle. Rick had a pretty good idea what he'd find if he checked the aspirin bottle.

Rick opened the cabinet in Daryl's bathroom. He dug around on the shelf with the cold medicine, laxatives and antacids until he found what he was looking for. The aspirin bottle. He took it from its place on the shelf near the back and opened it up. It was full of Oxycontin tablets.

Rick took a deep breath. Now he really wanted to talk to Daryl and he was sure of one thing at least and that was that he owed Daryl an apology.


	31. Chapter 31

**Okay, it hasn't been a week. I lied. I'm a big fat liar. I'm addicted to writing this thing. No, it won't go on for too much longer.**

Chapter 31

Rick sat down at the table just as Maggie and Carol were setting the food and plates on the table. He smiled as he assessed the spread before him. The sesame ginger chicken stir fry Maggie made was loaded with red and green peppers, water chestnuts and broccoli. She'd made fried rice with bits of bacon in it and she'd microwaved some of the mini eggrolls that were in the freezer. There was a pitcher of iced tea with actual ice in it and Rick knew peach cobbler was for dessert. "This looks fantastic, "Rick said to Maggie. "Thanks for doing this for us."

Maggie smiled. "I did it for me, too. Dad doesn't care for Asian cuisine so we never make it at home. I'm probably looking forward to this more than anyone else here."

When everyone was seated, Shane reached for the rice and Rick cleared his throat to get everyone's attention. "There's no easy way to say this, so I'll just say it. T-Dog got bit by a walker last night. I guess it was pretty bad."

Carol's hand flew up to her mouth and Andrea gasped.

Andrea was shaking her head as her eyes filled with tears, "How?" she asked, "Why? Where did it happen?"

"Apparently, right in the back yard," Rick said as he sat back in his chair.

"No, " she said. "That can't be possible. This place is safe. There's a fence around this house. A strong fence. It's safe here. You said it was safe, Rick. Daryl said it was safe. It isn't possible."

Rick looked at Andrea with sympathetic eyes. Poor Andrea had lost her sister and she and T-Dog had been good friends. "Andrea," Rick said "no place is completely safe in this world anymore. We all know this. Now this place is safer than most, I'm quite sure of it, and we're trying to figure out just what happened here last night so we can make sure that it doesn't happen again."

Tears were streaming down Carol's cheeks as she processed the fact that the group had lost yet another person. She sniffed and said, "What did Daryl say? He was with him, right? Where is T-Dog now, and where did Daryl go?"

"Daryl said that the gate to the fence had been left open. Neither he nor T-Dog was aware of that. There were walkers congregating outside the fence and they decided they were going to take them down. They didn't realize there were some inside the fence and one of them got the drop on T-Dog." Rick moved his eyes from Carol to Andrea. "Daryl buried T-Dog and I don't know where he went. He just wants to be alone right now and we don't have any right to keep him here."

Maggie looked flustered. "When I changed his dressing, I noticed that he'd snapped most of the top incision stitches and re-sutured them himself. I didn't ask how they ended up ripping but now I get it. All that bending and digging….he's probably pulled lower stitches, too. Rick, he can't be out there tootling all over the countryside on a motorcycle by himself! Especially if he's under the influence of pain meds. C'mon, y'all know that isn't safe."

Rick nodded and said, "I completely agree with you, Maggie, but what was I supposed to do? How could I keep him from leaving? It isn't like I could handcuff him to his bed or anything."

Andrea grabbed the fried rice and spooned some onto her plate. "Why didn't he wait until we got here to help him with T-Dog?" she asked Rick.

Shane cocked his head to look at Rick and raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Well, Rick?"

Rick grabbed two eggrolls off the plate that was being passed around. "According to Daryl, T-Dog was fading fast and he knew he wasn't going to make it. He asked Daryl for one of his Rugers and took care of things himself. The end results weren't very pretty and Daryl knew that I would be bringing at least one lady with me today. He indicated that he didn't feel it would be appropriate to subject you to a sight like that."

Shane snorted. "So that was his motivation? It had to take at least two hours to dig that hole alone and he's poppin' stitches and bleeding all over himself; isn't that right, Carol? Didn't you say his clothes were pretty much soaked? "

Carol nodded.

"So," Shane continued, "Good ol' Daryl, he's out there for hours digging a hole, just so the ladies don't have to see something disturbing. He couldn't just throw a tarp over T-Dog so the gals wouldn't have to see his face, and then wait for more help to arrive today; he had to dig the damned hole by himself and then fill it in again. I call bullshit on that."

Carol's eyes narrowed at Shane. "Just what are you implying, Shane?" she asked.

Shane had just taken a fork full of chicken. He chewed it and swallowed it then said, "Ain't implying anything. I'm just stating facts. Daryl went out of his way to bury T-Dog and I can't see a good reason for that at all. It just makes me wonder what really motivated him to do that."

Carol sipped her ice tea and seemed to consider his answer. "Okay, " she said to Shane "I'll bite. What do _you_ think motivated him to do that?"

Shane put his fork down and leaned back in his chair. "Carol, you saw him earlier this afternoon. Y'all heard what Rick said. Daryl was stoned on pain meds. Rick said Daryl kept trying to tell him it was 8:00 in the morning and no way in hell was it 1:30 in the afternoon. If he was that confused almost si hours after he supposedly took his 'morning dose' of that damned morphine, what the hell kind of shape was he in the night before?"

Maggie scoffed. "That doesn't prove anything, and if Daryl was so damned tired that he slept six hours without realizing he'd been asleep that long, I can't imagine that he would have been able to overpower T-Dog the night before."

Shane looked disgusted. "Of course he slept six hours straight, he'd just spent a good few hours digging a grave! I'm sure he was plumb tuckered out. I know I'd be."

Carol had taken a bite of a large piece of red pepper and she pointed her fork at Shane and waved it at him. "So you think Daryl's motivation to dig a grave was 'because he was stoned on painkillers?"

"No, no…" Shane replied thoughtfully, "I'm just sayin' that it might have helped to push him into whatever he did before he dug the grave."

Andrea was lifting her fork to her mouth and she put it down and stared at Shane. "Are you saying that you think Daryl had something to do with T-Dog's death? Are you saying Daryl killed him? That _is_ what you're saying, isn't it?"

Shane shoved a spoonful of rice into his mouth and said, with his mouth full, "I never said that."

"No," Maggie said, "but you sure as heck implied it. You know, Daryl can be a real jerk, but I don't think he's a murderer."

"Unless you count walkers," Andrea piped up, "and if that's the case, then we're all murderers."

'Well,' thought Shane, 'Here I am again in the middle of a meeting of the Daryl Dixon Fan Club. Lucky me!'

"Okay Mags," Shane nodded towards Maggie, "you tell me why you think Daryl dug that grave. You changed his dressing. He'd pulled stitches. That has to hurt, right?"

"Yes, but Daryl's tough."

"He's also _stupid_ if he'd stand outside for hours bleeding all over himself, bleeding _my_ blood all over himself to do something we could have done or at least helped with." Shane shoveled in another mouthful of stir fry chicken. "This is good stuff." He said with his mouth full.

Rick agreed as he heaped some more chicken onto his plate, carefully picking out the broccoli and putting it back into the bowl. He didn't notice the shocked look on the faces of all three women seated at the table.

"Why Rick Grimes!" exclaimed Maggie. "You stop taking that broccoli off your plate this instant!"

Rick looked up in surprise and glanced from one pair of glaring female eyes to the next. They were all looking at him and he felt like a kid that had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Maggie pointed a finger at him, "Broccoli is good for you!" she exclaimed.

Rick grinned sheepishly. He was caught. There were only a couple of broccoli florets on his plate so he mumbled under his breath, "but I don't _like_ it... Mom."

Shane grinned and shoulder bumped Rick, "Ha-ha, busted!" he teased.

Rick furrowed his brow and gave Shane a frown, "Yeah, paybacks a bitch. I noticed when we had steak and mushrooms a few days back that you must have told Lori not to give you any salad when she made up a plate for you. Now you bust me on broccoli. Not fair, Shane, not fair."

Shane bit his tongue before he confessed that he'd never told Lori 'no salad', she just knew him so well. He belonged with Lori. Rick didn't. He was more sure of that than he was of his own name.

They continued to discuss T-Dog and memories were shared and more tears cried and then Maggie left the table and returned with peach cobbler and ice cream.

The sun was shining and winking off the waves that had been coaxed up by a refreshing breeze and they enjoyed their dessert, the sunshine and the companionship; proving the old adage, 'Misery loves company.'

Shane decided he would take the motorboat out and after rummaging through the key holder and the drawers in the kitchen, he decided to check the map compartment in the boat and he found the keys there. He asked if anyone wanted to go out in the boat with him and was secretly delighted when everyone passed. He had some thinking and some planning to do.

After a little while, the women went inside; Andrea and Carol to their room to continue preparing it for their move and Maggie to the kitchen to do the dishes. Carol and even Andrea had offered to assist Maggie, but she had declined.

Doing dishes was mindless, repetitive work and Maggie liked to use the private time to think and plan and dream. She made her way into Daryl's room to collect his coffee mug and plate. She was pleased to see the pop tarts were gone as was the coffee. Her smile turned into a frown when she noticed the bottle of antibiotics sitting on the dresser.

"Dammit," she said under her breath. She decided she would write a note for Daryl, asking him to please make sure he took two of the amoxicillin pills every six hours. She toyed with the idea of writing, 'so you won't die, Jackass!' after her instructions, but decided she'd better not. Still, the jerk had thoroughly pissed her off earlier and when he lobbed his last snarky comment her way after she'd slammed his bedroom door, she had wanted to burst back into his room, grab him by that mop of brown hair on his head and beat the stuffing out of him. "Take a fuckin' Midol," indeed!

And where was said Jackass now? Off on his motorcycle. After her father had made it perfectly clear that he should not be doing much of anything for two weeks, Daryl was out riding the roads about 24 hours after his last stitch had been tied. Maggie was beginning to be convinced that he had a death wish. She left the room with the plate and mug in hand and shut the door.

* * *

"Well," laughed Imaginary Merle. "This is one a your most hair brained idears ever. Whatcha doin', son? Dancin' with the devil?"

Daryl watched the speedometer climb to 85 from 80 as he flew down Highway 75.

The Harley roared beneath him, its black exhaust pipes rumbling as the big bike continued to pick up speed. Now _this_ was living.

"Sure it is," Imaginary Merle agreed, "til you come upon a pile a stranded cars as you're haulin' ass at 100 miles an hour. From livin' to a pile a' guts on th' road in less'n 5 seconds. Is that what you want, baby brother?"

"I don't know." Daryl said out loud as the speedometer crept towards 90. "Sometimes."

His hair blew straight back in the wind and he leaned into a curve in the road. He became one with the motorcycle as they flew around the turn at an angle to the road and then straightened up. It was like the damned thing was on rails. It was just that smooth. The sun's glare seemed to reflect off the highway and Daryl was glad that he'd stopped back where he had met up with Rick and T Dog when he had taken out the walkers a couple of days before. He was able to walk around on the roadway a bit until he found what he was looking for. The Ray Ban Wayfarers that he'd lost off the top of his head when he'd gotten sick on the side of the road that day. He was glad he hadn't puked on them.

He hadn't decided yet what he was going to do. Part of him just wanted to keep on riding and not turn around. The furious demon deep inside him wanted to turn around _right now_, drive back to the house, kick everyone the hell out and as a parting gift drive his foot up Rick's boney ass as he kicked him off _his _property. Daryl was still livid about the questions that Rick had _dared _to throw at him. They bounced around in his head, taunting him.

"Do you _want _to die? Did you and T-Dog get into it last night and something happened that accidently killed him? Did you decide to bury him and then to kill yourself? Is that what this is all about?"

Why couldn't Rick take his word on anything? Why was it that his word was always suspect? He'd always told the truth. Always. He had never once lied to Rick about anything, but his word wasn't worth shit to the man. Daryl was pretty sure that if Rick was standing outside under a bright blue sky and he walked up to Rick and told him the sky was blue, that Rick would refute it and wouldn't believe it until Daryl proved it.

Shane, though, could walk up to Rick and tell him he could do wonders and shit green cucumbers and Rick would start gathering supplies to make pickles. Shane was the biggest damned liar in the whole group, but anything he said was gospel according to Rick. It frustrated the hell out of Daryl. Hell, why did he even care?

Daryl started to decelerate when he started smelling smoke in the air. He couldn't see it yet, but he knew that up ahead there was either a group of abandoned cars in the roadway on fire or a nearby town or city going up in flames.

He downshifted again and stopped. He stood there for a good five minutes, the Fat Boy rumbling and thrumming beneath him as he sat, left foot on the ground, right foot on the foot peg next to the rear brake. He sighed, then turned the big bike around and headed back in the direction from which he'd come. He figured he'd cooled down enough and he had started formulating a plan in his head. Rick needed to know what Shane had been up to and what he was up to now. Daryl had an idea that would not only end up letting Rick know that the bastard was behaving badly, it would actually allow Rick to catch Shane in the act of doing just that. If Rick was the one that witnessed Shane's dangerous behavior, Shane would not be able to deny it or make excuses for it and Rick would be forced to face reality and admit that his former best friend was a dangerous psychopath.

Daryl smirked. It was a decent plan and it would be dangerous, but if it worked, it would all be worth it.

Daryl turned the Harley around and headed for home. His home.


	32. Chapter 32

Shane was in the war room, checking out the firearms on the back wall. He would take one down off the wall and run his hand along the stock, the barrel, the trigger. If he really liked it, he would evaluate it further, holding it in a shooter's stance and assessing the weight, the balance and just the feel of the gun in his hands. He had fallen in love with the Ares Shrike machine gun with the combination belt/magazine feed. It was a big gun, solid and not too heavy and it had an M203 add on grenade launcher attached to it. It was a beautiful and deadly piece of weaponry and if felt so right in his hands when he held it. Yeah. He was going to make that one his.

Maggie came into the room and her hand flew to her mouth as she jumped when she saw Shane standing there. She blushed and laughed. "Phew! You scared me for a second there! I didn't expect to see anyone in here," she said as she moved past him and into the med room.

Shane looked the Shrike over one more time, then placed it back on the wall and entered the med room. Maggie was rummaging through a shelf of pills and when she heard Shane come into the room, she turned and smiled at him.

"You looked like a kid in a candy store out there, holding that gun." She turned and continued to search through the pills, occasionally picking up a bottle here and there and double checking the label.

"I felt like one, too." Shane admitted. "There are some pretty amazing firearms there; some I've only read or heard about. It's amazing to see them in person, to be able to hold them, potentially shoot them. " He watched her continue to look through the shelves, checking medicine bottles. "Can I help you look for something?" He asked her.

"Sure, could you see if you can find any Zithromax? It would probably be on a card and not necessarily in a bottle. I also need to gather up all the oxycodone, Oramorph, Percocet, Darvon, you know, all the narcotics. Dad said he would feel better if they weren't just out lying around for anyone to grab." She looked at him and bit her lower lip, suddenly wishing she could take back what she'd said. It was too late and Shane smirked.

"So your Dad doesn't think it's such a good idea to let the fox guard the henhouse, either, huh?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about." Maggie replied as she continued to look through the bottles on the shelf.

Shane started looking on the shelf above her. "Your Dad said something about some drug, what did he call it.? The one he used to calm Daryl down before the transfusion…..what was that term he used? Chemical resistant…. restrainer…..chemical restraint, that's what it was, a chemical restraint. I'd never heard of that before, but I guess they make sense. "

Maggie pointed to the shelf two racks over and one up from her. "Those are the chemical restraints, or psychotropic drugs; those first two columns." She smiled slightly and said more to herself than to anyone, "and I wish I'd known yesterday that they were on that shelf."

Shane moved to the shelf she'd pointed to and looked at the small bottles, each containing 10 mills of clear liquid. He read the names on them. Lorazepam, Diazepam, Haloperidol and Midazolam. "Don't you think it's kind of creepy? " He asked Maggie.

"Ah ha! " Maggie exclaimed as she grabbed a few blue plastic covered cards of pills. She looked back over at Shane. "I'm sorry; do I think what is creepy?"

"Well," said Shane. "I can understand this place having antibiotics and painkillers, even the really strong opiates, but why would anyone need to keep these on hand?" He waved his hand towards the two columns of psychotropic drugs.

Maggie scratched her head and frowned. "Wow,"she said as she looked up at him. "You're right. That is creepy. " She started to think about it. A base of operations for a military force trained to enforce martial law after the world had gone to hell. If any of the surviving populace didn't agree to go along with the new form of military led government, well… enter the chemical restraints, a little bit of torture…. Maggie shuddered. It was better not to think about it.

"So which one of these did your Dad use to get Daryl to settle down?" Shane asked her as he picked up a bottle and read the label.

"The Midazolam. It generally works faster than…..wait…why? Why do you want to know?" Maggie looked at Shane and raised her eyebrows as if expecting an immediate answer.

"Just curious, I suppose."

Maggie gathered the Zithromax and stuffed it into a plastic shopping bag. She went to another shelf and practically cleaned the whole thing off, placing the bags of pills and liquids into the bag. Shane walked out of the room and back into the war room and she joined him a few moments later. Shane was now admiring a M16 with a collapsible butt stock.

Maggie sighed, "You men and your toys."

Shane laughed. "I never had toys as nice as these, " he said.

Maggie left the room and went to find Rick.

* * *

Daryl flew down Highway 75 at 90 miles per hour, his hair whipping in the wind behind him. The sun started to set in the west, slowly sinking behind the distant mountains. It fanned yellow – pink rays onto the mountains below and the clouds nearby as if waving goodbye as it moved to retire for the evening.

"If I hafta use a spatula to pick what's left a you off the road, baby brother, I ain't gonna be none too happy." Imaginary Merle griped. "Find what's left a your ass an' kick it down the road a mile."

"Good luck with that. Know what I'm doin'. 'S all good." Daryl had ridden this stretch of road from the opposite direction a few hours before and the road had been clear for miles. Of course, that didn't mean that a walker or two or three or a hundred hadn't stumbled onto the roadway since then, but the road was flat and straight and Daryl figured he'd see anything in the roadway up ahead in plenty of time to stop or take evasive action. He was hoping that everyone would be gone when he arrived back at the house, but he suspected that Rick would probably leave someone there overnight to keep an eye on him. "Yeah," he said to himself. "'cause 'at worked out so well las' night." The first thing he was going to do when he got to the house was to make a dash for the Oramorph. The site of the incision had felt like it was on fire for the last three hours and it was tight and itchy now, too. The second order of business would be to take those damned Amoxicillin pills and then he would fix himself something to eat. His stomach growled in agreement with the thought of food.

He squinted as something about a mile up the road came into view. Walkers. Not just one, but not a herd, either. He brought the bike down to 40 miles per hour quickly and thumbed the holster tab off the Blackhawk hanging at his left hip. He was coming up on them now. There were 6 of them and they were shuffling down the roadway, in his direction and all grouped together in the right hand lane.

Daryl raised the Ruger with his left hand and pulled the hammer back. He fired at the first walker when he was about a hundred feet from it and then shot of the other five rounds one after the other as he closed the distance between them. Now he was roaring by them and slowing to a stop fifty feet beyond them. He had taken down four of them permanently on his pass and now he turned the bike around and holstered the empty gun as he reached for the one on his right. The two walkers that were left were both male and dressed in what used to be business suits. The first one had a broken pair of glasses hanging crookedly on his face and Daryl realized that it was because they only had one ear to rest on. The two standing walkers had stopped as if trying to figure out where their potential meal had disappeared to.

Daryl whistled between his teeth like he was calling a dog and the walkers both groaned simultaneously and slowly turned around to face him.

Daryl opened his mouth and spoke to no one in particular. "In today's Olympic news, brothers Stinky an' Smelly Monkey suit took the gold in synchronized groanin' an' turnin'. Here's your prize. " The Blackhawks boomed and Stinky and Smelly hit the ground with new permanent holes in their foreheads. Daryl reloaded both guns and holstered them before turning the Fat Boy around again and heading towards home.

"Today's brain fart was brought to you by Daryl Dumbass Dixon." announced Imaginary Merle. There was a pause. "Nice shootin' baby bro."

Daryl smiled.

* * *

Rick had waited for Daryl as long as he could. He needed to get Shane and the ladies back to the farm. Carol and Maggie had both offered to spend the night at the lake house and to keep an eye on Daryl once he returned. It was decided that Maggie would stay, although Rick suspected that he would receive backlash from Hershel for letting her do so. As the afternoon had rolled on into early evening, Rick had begun to wonder if Daryl was going to come back at all. Rick was in a quandary wondering what to do about the whole switched meds situation. If he left the pills and bottles as they were now and Daryl did come back later, he would most certainly need to take something for pain regulation. Rick decided he'd take the pills that had been tampered with, aspirin bottle included, and just leave the unopened bottle of Oramorph that had been on the dresser. He stuck the Oramorph bottle in the nightstand drawer in Daryl's room and while he was tempted to leave a note explaining the situation, he decided against it. The last thing he needed was for the 'pill switcher' to find it before Daryl did. Rick ended up shoving the bottles of switched pills between the mattress and box spring of Daryl's bed. He felt this was the best course of action because if he brought them back to the farm and Lori happened to find them, she would have a lot of questions.

Who was the pill switcher? Was it Shane? Had he switched the pills around? Why would he do that? No. It couldn't have been Shane. Shane and Daryl weren't best buddies or anything, but Shane had probably saved Daryl's life by giving the man his blood. It didn't make sense that Shane would want to seriously hurt him. The pill switching stunt could have killed Daryl and while Shane and Daryl had come to fisticuffs a few days ago, both men seemed to have put it behind them and moved on.

Then again, Shane had said some not very nice things about Daryl while he and Rick had been checking out the back yard for evidence of the walker attack from the night before. Shane was sure Daryl had been responsible for T-Dogs death and that he'd been totally fucked up on drugs when it happened. Rick remembered that Shane had referred to Daryl as a rat or a weasel or some type of vermin.

Maybe it was T-Dog who switched the pills! Rick grasped at this tempting straw. Yes, it was T-Dog. T-Dog knew that Daryl would play it brave and tough and wouldn't be taking the morphine like he should but would gravitate towards the Tylenol. Then, when Daryl insisted on taking the Tylenol instead, T would give Daryl a pill out of the Tylenol bottle and then….no, no, that theory was nice, but the aspirin and the Oxycontin switch shot it all to hell. Well, not necessarily. Maybe T-Dog didn't know that aspirin caused the blood to thin. Rick so wanted to believe it. He wanted to believe that it could be anyone but Shane.

Shane was backing out of the war room and closing the door when he bumped into Rick. It surprised the hell out of him and he jumped, dropping the plastic bag he was holding.

"Sorry, man, didn't mean to spook you. We're getting ready to leave." Rick chuckled and bent to pick up the bag for Shane, but Shane reached down and grabbed it before Rick could retrieve it for him.

"Thanks, I got it. You scared the hell out of me!" Shane laughed. "Almost shit my pants."

Rick laughed at that. "Remember junior year in high school when you were wrestling in the state finals and...

Shane grinned and cut him off, "No, and you don't either."

Rick nodded, still smiling like a Cheshire cat. "That is some great blackmail material there, partner." He said playfully.

"So is the story about you and Annie Sanderson's pantyhose ..."

Rick looked shocked. "No, no, that was on a dare! Not the same! Not the same thing at all!"

"Well then, " Shane nodded and smirked. "I guess we've got us some good storytelling material for our next 'sit around the fire and get to know each other more' session, don't we?"

"I won't tell if you won't." Rick clapped Shane on the shoulder.

Shane nodded at Rick "Good deal, bud, good deal."

* * *

When Shane discovered that Maggie was going to stay overnight at the house, he immediately volunteered to stay in her place. No one knew if Daryl would be back that evening and even if he did come back, was it really very safe for Maggie to be there with him? What if he didn't come back and walkers started congregating at the fence? What if he did come back, got drunk or all fucked up on pills and tried to hurt her?

Maggie had pooh–poohed Shane's concern and pointed out that she had enough firepower and ammo and grenades up on third floor to blow Georgia right off the map so she would be just fine and that she was sure that Daryl wouldn't give her any trouble at all, that is, if he returned that evening.

Shane still wasn't convinced, and questioned Maggie's reasons for wanting to stay. After all, Glenn wouldn't be too happy about this and her father would be livid.

"Don't you worry about me and Glenn and my Daddy," Maggie said as she shoved Shane out the kitchen door behind Rick. "I'll be just fine. Now _go_."

Rick agreed with Maggie. "She's fine, Shane, and tomorrow we'll move a couple of people over to stay, probably Carol and Andrea and Dale will be coming here tomorrow as well."

"Fine, fine," Shane relented. He pointed a finger at Maggie, swung it over to Rick and then back to Maggie, "but when your father starts carryin' on about you being here overnight, I'm gonna tell him I told you two that you were both nuts but you didn't listen to me."

Maggie nodded, "and he'll believe you, too!" she added.

Ten minutes later she was standing at the fence near the driveway, waving as the truck drove up the steep, narrow little road. Dusk was falling and the trucks tail lights glowed red as it entered the tree covered section of the road. She heard the truck stop and a door open and then Shane was cussing about Rick dropping the key between the seats. Maggie heard the gate open and then close after the truck had driven through. The sound of the engine got further and further away until she could no longer hear it at all.

Maggie went inside and locked the door. She stood in the kitchen and listened to the silence. The house was quiet except for the humming of the refrigerator and the ticking of a clock in the great room. She wondered if Daryl would be back and if she should try to fix something that would be ready for him to eat when he got home. He'd left without having any of the meal she'd prepared and that was hours ago so he'd have to be hungry. Unless, of course, he decided to feast on some raw squirrel. Again. Maggie made a face and stuck out her tongue at the mere thought of it. Yucko. She ended up dumping two large cans of Dinty Moore beef stew into the crock pot and flipping the switch to low. "There, " she said with satisfaction, "all done, " and she headed upstairs to arrange a place for herself to stay for the night.

* * *

Maggie heard the motorcycle ten minutes before she saw the headlight as it rolled down the driveway towards the log house. She was sitting on the deck in one of the cushioned chairs, watching the moon rise. She had arranged the room on second floor that was going to be Glen's for herself and had tested the bed by jumping around on it for just a couple of minutes. It was soft and springy and she was sure it would be comfortable.

The Harley's engine went silent and Maggie could hear Daryl cussing under his breath as the chain link fence rattled. She smiled. He was climbing over the fence.

Before they left, Rick and Shane had discussed moving the gate from the other side of the house over to the driveway side. They had both agreed that it would be done within the next couple of days. It certainly would make moving people and their belongings into the house much easier.

Maggie heard the kitchen door unlock and a moment later she heard the refrigerator door open.

A few seconds went by and the silence was broken by Daryl's voice as he shouted,"_Fuck fuck fuck_! What _asshole_ drank all my Dr. Pepper? _Dammit!_ "

She heard him muttering and cussing and was able to catch a few words here and there. "Lookin' forward to that can a' soda…..(mumble mumble) …fuckin' Rick Grimes…(mumble mumble)…asshole….(mumble)…._fuck_!"

Maggie put her hand over her mouth to silence the giggles that were threatening to explode from her.

More mumbling drifted out from the kitchen along with the sound of cupboard doors being opened and banged shut. The banging and mumbling came to an abrupt halt and everything was silent for a few seconds.

"_MY FUCKIN' OREOS ARE GONE_?!"

Maggie burst out laughing.


	33. Chapter 33

"There's stew in the crockpot for you" Maggie hollered toward the open door. She heard another cupboard open and bang shut and a drawer being yanked open. She sat back in the chair and continued to watch the moon as it cut its path through the starry night sky. Daryl hadn't spoken to her yet, hadn't said a word to her and she heard him tromp through the great room towards his room. A few seconds later he was heading back to the kitchen.

Daryl appeared in the doorway to the deck a moment later. He was holding a bowl of stew in one hand and a glass of water in the other. He nodded at Maggie. "'S okay if I c'mout 'n sit down?"

Maggie smiled at him in the dark. "You're asking _me_? This is your place; you can do whatever you want."

Daryl walked over to the table and sat down at the end farthest from Maggie. "Ain't my place," he mumbled. "Didn't wanna come out if it made you feel uncomfortable."

Maggie sighed and adjusted her chair so it leaned back further. "No, Daryl, I'm not uncomfortable at all. You see, I took a _Midol_ and now I'm feeling just _fine_. "

Daryl had just taken a bite of hot beef stew and he swallowed hard. He was still for a minute then he was grabbing up the bowl and rising from his chair to head back into the safety of the house.

"Sit down, sit down, I got my jab in. We're even, _but, _if you ever make a PMS crack to me like that again, I'll kick you in the balls so hard that you'll have to open your mouth to piss."

Daryl sat down. "You talk to Chinaman tha' way?" he asked.

"Yes, and he _loves_ it." Maggie practically purred.

"I'll bet. Thanks for lettin' me have some a' this." Daryl said. "Guess your can openin' skills are right up there with your coffee maker button pushin' skills."

Maggie smiled. "Yes, my can opening skills are second to none, and I opened that can and used my crock pot knob turning skills to heat that stew up especially _just for you_, so I'd appreciate it if you ate as much of it as possible so I don't have to put any leftovers away. Comprehendo?"

"Awww…you opened a can a stew special for me? 'N after I was such a dick ta you? Well kiss my ass an' call it candy." If she wanted to play sarcastic, he could, too.

"I opened _two_ cans for you, candy ass. Now when did you last take your Amoxicillin?"

Daryl reached into his vest pocket and pulled out the bottle he had retrieved from his bedroom before he'd grabbed his bowl of stew. He shook it at Maggie. "Got 'em right here. Now watch. Watch this." He opened the bottle of pills and shook two out into his hand. He put the cover back on the bottle and put it on the table. He held up a pill in each hand between his thumb and index finger for Maggie to see. "See? See 'em?" he said; then he popped them both into his mouth and chased them with his glass of water. "There, did that make you happy? Do I get a gold star now?"

"Not a gold one, a silver one. You were naughty today so no gold star for you, mister."

"I was naughty_? Naughty_?" he burst out laughing.

Maggie had never heard Daryl laugh like that before and she was totally charmed. His laugh was warm and hearty, with an occasional spattering of giggles mixed in. She thought his gruff voice had never sounded better and then he freakin' giggled. Daryl Dixon, Mighty Hunter, Super Tracker was a giggler! It made Maggie laugh just to hear him laughing.

"Naughty?" he said again, finally regaining control. "What, you wanna spank me or sumthin? I ain't three years old, you know."

Maggie's eyes got wide and her mouth dropped open at the quick mental picture his words had inspired_. Did she want to spank him_?!

He realized what he'd said and that he didn't mean it the way he knew she was thinking it. He was also quite sure that Maggie knew he hadn't meant it in a suggestive or sexual way _but_ he knew she was also seeing the same mental picture that had popped into his head the minute the stupid words were out of his mouth. He resigned himself to the fact that trying to explain himself would just make it worse. He was grateful for the dim lighting on the deck because he knew his face had just flushed bright red and he leapt to his feet, grabbed his bowl and the water glass and all but ran for the front door, almost tripping as he went.

"Daryl, you get back here, " Maggie called as the screen door swung closed as Daryl made his exit from the deck. He either didn't hear her or pretended he didn't. Maggie sighed and then giggled to herself. The look on Daryl's face the minute he'd realized just what he'd said was priceless. He had been looking at her as he was speaking with a small, sarcastic smile on his face then realization had hit and his eyes had gotten wide and the smile had disappeared. He had bitten his bottom lip as his eyes darted away from her, to the table, the floor, back to her and then to the nearly empty bowl of stew. He'd reminded her of a cornered wild animal looking for a way to escape. He'd grabbed the bowl and shot out of his chair, almost knocking it over in his haste to get away from her.

She thought of going after him, but changed her mind. She'd give him a few minutes to compose himself and then go in to check his dressing. She had something she wanted to ask him about.

* * *

The news about T-Dog's death was met with great sadness and tears. Glenn was shocked and Carl was inconsolable. There were new questions about whether or not the lake house was actually safe and after Shane had given his impressions on what may or may not have happened, Daryl's involvement in the whole situation was being questioned by some members of the group.

Rick had been right. Hershel was livid when he learned that his daughter had elected to stay at the lake house. Rick had been surprised when Glenn had jumped in to defend Maggie's decision and had professed his complete and utter trust in Daryl Dixon to keep her safe. Carol pointed out that Daryl wasn't even there when they left which got Hershel going again.

"Not there? He's supposed to be in bed for a _least_ three or four days, just getting up to walk around a bit every day! He's going to pull those stitches and start bleeding again!" Hershel couldn't believe how little this man cared about his health. He just about went into orbit when Shane gleefully filled him in on the disorientation Daryl was exhibitng shortly after he and the rest of Rick's little group had arrived and then his defiant departure on his motorcycle not long afterward.

Hershel thought he'd heard everything until Carol mentioned that she was sure Daryl had lost a good amount of blood while he was digging T-Dog's grave the night before due to the fact that the clothing he'd left on top of the washing machine was soaked with the stuff and that Maggie had said that he had pulled his outer stitches while digging but had re-stitched them himself.

"He dug a grave last night? He pulled his stitches and repaired them? " Hershel threw up his hands and shook his head. "He should have saved us all some time and dug two graves. I wasted my time going out there to help that foolish man," he complained. "He obviously has no regard for his life and sadly, if he doesn't start paying attention to what he is supposed to be doing in order to heal, he's going to wear himself out. He went out on his motorcycle? No one does something that stupid only 24 hours after this type of surgery!" He looked around at all their faces and turned and left the room. "And Maggie had better be back here by 3pm tomorrow!" He called back to Rick.

Shane looked at Rick and Rick sighed.

"Daryl really is one shitty patient." Shane said. "Hershel is right. He really can't be out bebopping around all over the place when he's supposed to be on bed rest. That frozen meat in those freezers isn't going to last forever and we either need for him to get better or we need to hope we bump into another competent hunter/tracker and we both know that isn't gonna happen. You're the leader of this group, Rick, you never should have let him leave! What if he passes out like he did a few days ago? If he lost a lot of blood like Carol seems to think he did, he could pass out, couldn't he? That wouldn't be too cool if he was going, like 80 on that Harley. When and if he comes back, you need to lay down the law with him. Tell him he needs to stay put at least for a few days, that he needs to do that in order to get better."

"Yeah?" Rick asked. "and if he says 'no'"?

Shane put his left hand on his hip and scratched his chin with his right one. "Then make him. Make him stay put. "

Rick scoffed. "And just how am I supposed to do that? Threaten him? How? Tell him if he doesn't stay in bed like a good boy, I'll take his crossbow away from him?"

"Well," Shane said thoughtfully. "When Daryl threatened to leave and forgo surgery, Hershel used what he called a 'chemical restraint' to park his ass so he could take proper care of him without Daryl fighting it."

"You mean sedate him? Are you serious? That is just so wrong on so many levels."

Shane shrugged. "What else are you gonna do? You know how he is. He won't stay put, and it would only be for a couple of days. That way you could regulate his pain meds, you know, make sure he wasn't getting too much or too little of anything. It would also make checking his incision and changing dressings a whole lot easier. It would keep him quiet and he'd get the rest he needs. You'd only be doing him a favor, Rick."

Shane patted Rick on the shoulder, "At least think about it," he said and he strode off to take his turn at watch on top of the RV.

Rick considered what Shane had said. It actually made sense. Daryl was only hurting himself by refusing to do as Hershel had told him to do.

Rick was going to talk to Daryl first, though. He owed the man at least that much. If Shane was the person responsible for switching pills around at the lake house, and as much as Rick hated to think that he was, then could this just be a ploy by Shane to incapacitate Daryl? But why would he want to do that?

The answer hit Rick like a ton of bricks. Daryl knew something. Daryl knew something about Shane that Shane didn't want anyone else to know. The puzzles pieces all neatly fell together. It all made sense. Shane's visit to Daryl at his campsite above the farm was a visit meant to intimidate Daryl into keeping his mouth shut about something. Daryl had left the next morning and Shane had relaxed, the threat now gone. Now, though, Daryl was going to be with the group again and the threat that Shane thought he'd taken care of was back. Rick was definitely going to be speaking with Daryl the next morning because, dammit, something was going on and Daryl was damn well going to tell him what it was.

* * *

Maggie knocked on Daryl's bedroom door, there was no answer and she listened closer and she could hear the shower running. How the hell was Daryl taking a shower without getting his incision all wet? She raised her hand to pound on the door so she could bawl him out when she heard his voice. She listened for a second and clapped her hand over her mouth. Daryl Dixon was singing in the shower. Loudly. She giggled.

'"_Leanin' over you here, cold an' catatonic…. I catch a brief reflection of what you could an' might a been.. it's your right an' your ability to become my perfect enemy….wake up…an' face me…don't play dead 'cause maybe.."_

"Daryl, you'd better not be getting that incision wet!" Maggie yelled through the bedroom door.

The singing abruptly stopped.

"Daryl? Did you hear me?"

It was quiet for a few seconds except for the sound of the shower running. A grumpy sounding voice responded, "Whole damned forest probably heard you. Ya got a mouth on you like a damned foghorn!"

Maggie was offended. "A foghorn?!" She huffed. "Well at least when I sing I don't sound like a helium inhaling constipated donkey."

"Constipated donkey?!"

"Constipated donkey!"

"Thems fightin' words, woman."

"You wanna fight, Dixon? Stick your head up your ass and fight for air!"

It was quiet for a few seconds before he replied, "That's physically impossible."

Maggie smiled and called back, "Well it's nice to know you tried. Now when you're done I need to check out that incision, and that is not a request!"

"Fine fine, now go 'way."

Maggie went back out onto the deck and sat in the cushioned chair she had recently vacated. The night was gorgeous and the moonlight was so bright that it cast shadows and Maggie found herself constantly checking the edges of the woods beyond the fence for movement. It got to be a bit nerve wracking and Maggie got up and made her way to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. She thought she had seen a bottle of wine in the door and she was right. She checked the label. Reunite D'Oro. She poured herself a glass and went back to the deck.

Daryl had come out onto the deck while she was up and reclined one of the deck chairs and was lying on it, looking up at the stars. He was wearing a pair of jeans and a gray t-shirt. She noticed how long his hair was.

"Hey, she said, "you want a haircut?"

Daryl closed his eyes," not tonight. I just wanna sit here for a few more minutes an' then go crawl inta bed."

"Okay, but the offer is always open and you really could use a good trim."

He smiled and said thank you, then closed his eyes again.

Maggie sat in silence watching the stars for about fifteen minutes then quietly called Daryl's name.

"Hmmm?" he replied sleepily.

"Would it be okay with you if I moved in here, too? I've decided that I should be with Glenn and I want to be where he is." She explained. "I'm going to tell my Dad tomorrow, if it's okay with you and you'll let me move in."

"Y'all r' idjits. Ain't my house, not for me to say who stays," he mumbled. "You really like the Chinaman, don't cha?

Maggie smiled. "Yeah, yeah I do. He just isn't like anyone I've ever met. He's so smart and handsome and we have so much in common. I mean, Glenn is just so cool and he's really easy to talk to." She paused for a moment and she could just see Glenn with his happy and often confused smile, " I'm not a little girl anymore and I'm lucky in today's world to have even found someone like him. I really think I'm falling in..."

She was cut off by a loud noise that sounded like a rusty buzz saw. "_Scraaaaaaaaaaaaaaw"_ followed by a growly, "_shhhhhhhh_."

She looked over at Daryl. His right arm rested across his stomach and his left arm had slid off his stomach and hung off the left side of the chair, his knuckles resting on the floor. His head was tilted back and his mouth was partially open and the man was snoring up a storm.

Maggie smirked, "Sorry if I bored you." She let Daryl sleep for another half hour before she gently shook his shoulder. "Wakey wakey, Dixon. C'mon now, let's be waking up."

Daryl gradually awoke and for a moment he wasn't sure where he was. "Merle?" he muttered drowsily.

"No, " Maggie said, "it's Maggie. C'mon fella, let's get you inside and I'll check your boo boos and then you can sleep all you want." She stood up and waited for him to get to his feet, and then she followed him to his room.

He collapsed on his bed on his back and closed his eyes, he was so damned tired.

"Daryl, I'm going to check your incision, okay? I'm going to be touching you and moving my fingers around the incision site. Did you take anything for pain when you got out of the shower? "

"Took a few Tylenol. " he mumbled. " Why'd you hide th' bottle under th' mattress? This a game to you?"

Maggie shrugged. She had no idea about what he was talking about and she checked the incision. Of course it was wet and more than just a little bloody. She cleaned it up and put a fresh bandage on it and taped it down well. She checked the stitches in his head and was pleased to see that the wound was healing well. Daryl sputtered and snored while Maggie worked and she found herself working to stifle a giggle more than once. When she was done, she let herself out of Daryl's room and climbed the stairs to the room she would be sleeping in that night; the room she hoped to soon be sharing with Glenn.


	34. Chapter 34

_He could hear them catching up to him as he stumbled through the trees. They were chasing him and he knew that if they caught him, they would kill him. He had failed them and he had caused the blood of those they loved to be spilled. His failure to find and to protect had killed them and now those that loved them screamed for justice and for revenge. He was so tired, so very tired and he tripped over a root and fell to his knees. Someone grabbed him and shoved him against a tree, its bark rough and hard on his bare back . He raised his eyes and Carol was standing in front of him, one of his Blackhawks in her hand. _

"_How could you, Daryl, how could you?" she asked with anger and sadness in both her face and her voice. "You said she would be fine. That was the word you used. Fine." He closed his eyes against the anger and hate radiating from hers and leaned his head back against the tree. "She's dead, Daryl, dead. T-Dog is dead. Their blood is on your hands. A debt is owed." She brought the Blackhawk level with his face and he opened his eyes and stared at the barrel. Then he was reaching out to take hold of the gun. His gun. Carol couldn't do this and he knew it, they both knew it. Carol let him take the Blackhawk from her and her fingers brushed his as she released it into his hand. He looked into her angry but sad eyes and she nodded. He swallowed and nodded back. He understood; then he thumbed the hammer back, put the pistol to his right temple and pulled the trigger._

Daryl's eyes flew open and he sat up in bed so fast it made him dizzy. Well, he thought, he could cross Carol off his list of executioners now. He reached over and flipped on the lamp on the nightstand then peered at the clock on the wall. It was 1:30am. He slid out of the bed and went into the bathroom and noticed he was still pissing blood. Probably would be for a while, it had been damned stupid to take the motorcycle out and his little ride had probably added days to his recovery time. When Hershel found out that he'd disregarded his instructions and not stayed in bed at least for a day he would be totally pissed off. Daryl's incision site was throbbing and it he wasn't terribly surprised to see that the bandage on it was almost soaked with blood and that it had leaked through onto his t-shirt. He sighed. An added bonus for refusing to follow Hershel's post-op instructions.

He took the bandage off and dabbed off the oozing wound with a few pieces of gauze, then taped a new bandage to it. He slid his feet into his slippers, took his bloody t-shirt to the laundry room and rinsed it out in the sink there. The moon was high in the sky and the moonlight through the windows lit the house up enough so that he was able to see where he was walking without having to turn on any lights. His stomach growled and he realized that he was still pretty hungry.

Daryl went to the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The little light in it came on, bathing the kitchen in a faint glow. He pulled the large bowl of stew out and threw the whole thing into the microwave. He leaned on the kitchen island, waiting for the microwave to do its magic, humming while he waited and then got back into the refrigerator and pulled out two bottles of beer. He scowled, remembering that his Dr. Pepper was MIA. "Fuckin' soda thieves," he mumbled.

The microwave signaled that its job was done and Daryl pulled the bowl from it and after grabbing a spoon and the bottles of beer, he made his way out to the deck. It was a cool and windless night and Daryl parked himself at the table and cracked open a bottle of beer. In ten minutes time he had finished the stew and the first beer. He expelled a loud belch that echoed across the lake and a great horned owl hooted as if scolding him for his lack of manners.

Daryl had held off addressing the ache beneath his bandaged side and it had started to intensify. "Its Tylenol time," he said to himself as he stood up and made the trek back to his room. He returned to the deck with the bottle in one hand and another beer in the other and sat back in his chair. He'd made a detour to the kitchen and now there was only one beer left in the refrigerator and by God, he might just drink that one, too, before he was done.

Daryl sat looking at the Tylenol bottle in his hand and thought for a moment. He was a little bit proud of himself for the way he had been successfully avoiding the use of the morphine tablets in favor of the Tylenol. He had taken two Tylenol when he got in from his unplanned motorcycle ride and had been able to forgo the Oramorph all together. It was funny how the Tylenol seemed to actually work better at controlling the pain than the morphine did.

He shook two of the tablets out into his hand, then closed his eyes and reassessed the pain he was feeling. It had gradually increased and was getting to the point where inhaling and exhaling were starting to become uncomfortable. He shook two more of the tablets into his hand and tossed the four of them into his mouth and chased them with the rest of beer #2. The great horned owls started up their conversations again and Daryl smiled. Damned squirrel eaters. He opened his third beer and guzzled half of it. He burped good and loud then slapped his hand over his mouth as he remembered that Maggie was asleep on the second floor. Hell, he couldn't help it if carbonated beverages had that effect on him. He fiddled with the chair a bit and slid it into a reclining position. There, now this was comfortable.

Daryl gazed at the moon and thought back to an evening years ago. Maggie had asked him about the scar that started at his collarbone and ran halfway across his chest. That had been the deepest and worst of any of the wounds that had permanently marred his body and he remembered the day it had been carved into him like it was yesterday. That summer evening 15 years ago had been moonlit just like this one. He was twenty-one at the time and after he had been caught and badly beaten for his offense, he still hadn't learned his lesson. Two weeks later he was held down by four men, Merle among them, and punished for his insolence. The knife was razor sharp and had split his skin like it was butter, cutting deep into muscle and scraping bone. It was only when Merle realized that the knife holder's intention was not just to punish his brother for what he'd done but to kill him, to cut out his heart, that Merle had changed his allegiance and hauled Daryl out from under the blade.

Daryl sat for another half hour and he started getting drowsy. He finished the beer and let loose with a another loud belch.

"Get any on you?" said a voice from the door.

Daryl made a show of checking his chest and his pants. "Nope. Whatcha doin' up at this hour?" he asked Maggie as she came out onto the deck and walked toward where he was lying in his chair.

"Are you kidding?" Maggie sat in the chair next to him. "Dixon, I'm impressed. Your loud and disgusting gastric outbursts could wake the dead. "

"Gastric outbursts?" Daryl laughed. "I'm sorry. Ain't good for you to hold those in, though."

"Ain't good for those around you for you not to." she replied. She picked up two empty beer bottles from off of the table. "Daryl, dammit, you can't drink when you're taking morphine!"

"Calm down, calm down, princess. I ain't had one of them for more 'an 18 hours, so it's all good. Tylenol's been doin' a better job, anyway. Jus' took four a' um." He picked up the Tylenol bottle and shook it at her. "See? Tylenol."

Maggie smiled. "You picking up my Daddy's habits now, too?"

"Nah, I jes' like the pretty lil' sound they make rattlin' 'round in there. There's one beer left if you wan' it." Daryl told her.

"Thanks, I'm good."

"Fine. Suit yourself." He yawned.

They were quiet for a moment, then Maggie said, "I'm a bit worried about things between you and Shane."

"Me an' Shane? Whatdaya mean?" Shit. Maggie could tell? Could anyone else?

"I mean that its pretty obvious that he doesn't like you. I was shocked when he offered to give you some of his blood, but it makes sense that he did that. He's playing nice in front of all the grownups so when he hits you on the playground no one will believe you if you go and tell on him."

Daryl smiled. . "I guess that's one way a puttin' it. Look, Maggie, I don't want everyone knowin' this stuff. 'S between me an' Shane, no one else." He yawned, and added, "'sides, I ain't the tattle-tale type."

Maggie rolled her eyes and sighed, "Daryl, I know you two had a helluva fight before you left the farm. I don't know what it was about and its none of my business, but Shane was asking some odd questions about the drug Dad had given you in order to go forward with the transfusion. It just got me thinking is all and I thought you should know. I don't trust Shane. I think he's dangerous. "

Daryl was silent for a moment, then quietly said, "I'd hate to be in a room with 'im if I wasn't able to defend myself."

"I don't see that happening." Maggie said confidently.

Everything was quiet for several minutes and Maggie smiled as the silence was broken by a long and loud series of owl hoots.

"So, nature boy, what kind of owl was that?" she asked in Daryl's direction.

He didn't answer and she smiled. Of course he would be tired, and hadn't he been yawning up a storm?

She winced as the little headache that had started when she'd been pulled from sleep by Daryl's disgusting and extremely loud rudeness ramped up and she reached across the table for the bottle of Tylenol tablets. She told herself that she never should have had that glass of wine.

She opened the bottle and shook one into her hand, figuring she'd dry swallow it and then grab a glass of water on her way back to her room upstairs. She looked down at the tablet and froze. This wasn't...She took the pill between her thumb and her forefinger and examined it in the moonlight, turning it around. On one side of the round, white tablet was the number 54 with the number 933 underneath it. On the other side, the number 60. Oramorph. What the hell was a morphine tablet doing in the Tylenol bottle? "Damn.." She grabbed the bottle and dumped several tablets into her hand. They were _all_ Oramorph tablets. She put them back in the bottle and furrowed her brow. It took a few seconds for things to register and fall into place and Maggie's hand flew to her mouth, Daryl had been taking _these_ thinking they were _Tylenol_? And tonight he'd been drinking _beer._ She shot out of her chair and bent over where he was reclined and sleeping and grabbed his shoulders. "Daryl?! Daryl!"

He opened his eyes a crack, "Hmm?"

"Dammit, Dixon, " He was shirtless so she couldn't grab his shirt, so she grabbed his shoulders again and gave him a good shake, "Get up, get up right now! "

He clumsily tried to slap her hands away and mumbled "Leave me be. Why you gotta be touchin' me all a' time?"

Maggie placed a hand on each side of his face and bent so she was nose to nose with him and stared into his half-open eyes. "Daryl. Shane switched meds on you. You're ODing , come on, get up! This makes so much sense now...no wonder Rick thought...Daryl!" Daryl's eyes twitched and then rolled back and closed and now she heard his breathing as it transitioned from normal, deep breaths to short and shallow ones. She shook him again. "Daryl?!"

Maggie jumped up and ran into the house as fast as her legs could carry her. She flipped on the lights as she ran up the first flight of stairs and again as she ran up the second flight. She ran down the third floor hallway and burst into the war room, flipping on the lights and shoved open the door to the med room. She stopped at the shelf where she thought she had seen what she needed. "Naloxone, Naloxone, where is it, where is it?!" she mumbled frantically to herself. She knocked over vials and bottles searching the rows as she silently thanked God that she had studied pharmacology at Georgia State University. She finally found what she was looking for and snatched up the small bottle. Grabbing a handful of wrapped syringes in her other hand, she flew down the hallway and leaped down the stairs two at a time.

She ran out on the deck, and knelt next to where she'd left Daryl. His eyes were partially open and as she fumbled to find his pulse, she listened for his breathing. She heard nothing and his chest was still. "Don't you dare be dead!" she shouted at him as she hauled him from the chair onto the deck and pushed him onto his back. She yanked his head back and pinched his nose and covered his mouth with hers, exhaling into his mouth. His chest rose and she pulled away, then breathed into his mouth again. After a moment and several more breaths, she stopped and grabbed a syringe. With shaking hands, she pulled 2 mls of Naloxone into the syringe, slid the needle into where she hoped Daryl's jugular vein was and pushed the plunger. She fumbled at Daryl's wrist again, searching for a pulse. It was there, thready and weak. He still wasn't breathing on his own. The Naloxone would start his breathing again and reverse the effects of the morphine. She just had to keep him breathing until it started to work. She yanked his head back and pinched his nose closed again and breathed into him. He tasted like beer and she hated beer. She held back tears and laughed a bitter little laugh and then breathed into him again. He coughed and she burst into tears.

He didn't wake, but he was breathing on his own, short and shallow breaths, and she held him as he lay there and cried hot tears of relief into his chest.

It had been five minutes and she unwrapped another syringe and injected another 2 mls of Naloxone into Daryl's neck. It was bad enough that she hadn't brought alcohol wipes but she wasn't going to use the same syringe over. Daryl's breathing returned to normal from the shallow, short breaths he had been taking. Tears still ran down her face.

After the third dose of Naloxone five minutes later, he started to come around. He slowly became aware of a weight on his chest and he moved a hand over and touched Maggie's back. He felt her tremble beneath his touch. She was crying. "What..? Awww..." Daryl said sleepily. "…S'matter with you? 'S okay."

Maggie sat up, wiping tears from her eyes and smacked him on the shoulder. "Dammit, Dixon. Don't you ever, _ever_ scare me like that again!" she sniffed.

"Din't….din't do nothin'" He took a deep breath and tried to clear his head. He noticed he was on the floor and slowly sat up. His head was spinning. Shit. Had those three beers hit him that hard? He looked at Maggie. She was sitting next to him, a big smile on her face, but wiping tears from her eyes. God, what had he said to her to upset her? "'M sorry," he said and he peeked at her out from under the hair that hung partially in his eyes. "Din't mean it, whatever I said."

Maggie wiped her eyes again and sighed. Daryl had no idea what she was upset about. He looked so confused and what was that other look in his eyes, in his demeanor? Guilt. He exuded guilt. Maggie realized then that Daryl thought he had done something to offend her. "C'mon," she said, her voice shaky, "let's go inside." She gathered the syringe wrappers and the syringes she had used, being careful to replace the plastic covers over the used needles. She pocketed the little bottle of Naloxone, it still had two doses left in it and a quick thought entered her mind. She hoped she'd never need it again.

Daryl had gotten to his feet and he reached for the Tylenol bottle on the table. Maggie snatched it from his reach and shook it at him. "We need to have a little discussion about these. " She told him.

"Fine,.. fine." He said, rolling his eyes. He knew he was in trouble now. Someone had hidden the Tylenol from him and he figured it was either Rick or Maggie. He could vaguely remember Rick shaking the bottle at him angrily as he had moved in and out of consciousness the day before but he had no idea what the man had said. When he'd arrived back at the house after his temporary escape on his motorcycle, Daryl had opened the nightstand drawer, looking for the Tylenol. It wasn't there, but an unopened bottle of Oramorph was. Where was the damned Tylenol? He figured it out. Maggie, Hershel and Rick wanted him to take the Oramorph. That is what Rick was yelling about, wasn't it? Rick figured he was being stubborn and "playing brave" by insisting on getting by with Tylenol instead of using the stronger pain reliever. Couldn't they just leave well enough alone? He wasn't a child, dammit. If the Tylenol was taking care of the pain well enough, wasn't it better for him to be using that instead of something as incredibly addicting as morphine?

He'd checked the bathroom cupboard for the Tylenol and it wasn't there. He checked the garbage and it wasn't there either. He walked out into the bedroom and scratched his head. Then he noticed it. At the corner of the end of the bed, the blanket and sheet had been pulled out, and the bottom edge had been haphazardly shoved beneath the mattress. He smiled and slid his hand between the mattress and the box-spring where the sheet was pulled out and there it was. His Tylenol. "Sneaky assholes," he mumbled. What the hell? Why were they so anxious for him to take the morphine? Did they want him to get addicted? Now Maggie had the bottle of Tylenol and wanted to have a discussion about it. Great.

Daryl entered his room and sat on the edge of his bed. He was starting to sweat. Funny, it didn't seem hot in there. Maggie dumped the stuff she was carrying into the trash can by the door and approached him. He had expected Maggie to take the chair but she sat down next to him on the bed. He instinctively moved several inches away from her. "Okay," he sighed, looking at his feet. "Just gimme the lecture 'n get it over with."

Maggie sighed. "No lecture, Dixon, but first a question. How do you feel?"

He shot a glance at her then looked back at his feet. "How do I feel?"

"Is there an echo in here? Yes, how do you feel? It's a simple question. How. Do. You. Feel?"

He licked his lips. How did he feel? Before he could answer, he was hit with a wave of nausea. Too much beer or did the combination of beer and stew not meld well? Suddenly he was on his feet and stumbling toward the bathroom as his stomach rolled and pitched. He made it just in time.

Maggie grimaced and crinkled her nose at the sounds of Daryl unloading the contents of his stomach. Nausea and vomiting, side effects of Naloxone. Sweating and tremors were common side effects as well.

Daryl flushed the toilet, thinking he was finished and then he was puking again. After a moment everything was silent. A shaky voice drifted out from the bathroom, "Does 'at answer your question?"

Maggie nodded to herself and then called toward the bathroom door. "You sweating? Got the shakes?" She heard the water come on in the sink and then heard Daryl spit as he rinsed his mouth out.

"Sweatin', no shakes though. Left side a my fuckin' neck hurts like a bitch." He appeared in the doorway a moment later, looking pale and exhausted.

Maggie patted the bed next to her. "Come sit down. We need to talk. "

Daryl groaned. "I hate talkin' when sum un' says we gotta talk." He trudged over and sat down next to her, making sure no part of him touched any part of her. She reached over and grabbed his wrist. He went to pull it away, but she tightened her grip and moved two fingers along the underside.

"You just hush and sit still. I'm checking your pulse."

Daryl rolled his eyes. "What the fuck for? Im sittin' right here, I'm jes' fine."

"Shut up and let me do this!" Maggie barked.

Daryl shut up but fixed her with the angriest glare he could muster. As tired as he was, he figured it didn't look very intimidating.

Maggie sighed and pulled her hand away. "Much better. Daryl? Tell me about the Tylenol."

Daryl looked confused. "Its Tylenol," he said, "an' I'd rather be takin' it than that morphine shit y'all are tryin' to push. Don't need it. Don't wan' it."

Maggie stood and pulled the Tylenol bottle out of her pocket. She opened it and sat down next to Daryl again. "Let's see the morphine." She said.

Daryl fumbled in the nightstand drawer and pulled the small bottle of Oramorph out of it.

Maggie took a pill out of the Tylenol bottle. She pointed to the morphine bottle. "Take one of those out of the bottle." She instructed Daryl.

"Shit no, I told you I don't want..."

"I didn't say to take one," Maggie interrupted, " I said to take one out of the bottle. "

Daryl shook one into his hand.

"There, now take a good look at it."

Okay, he'd humor her. "Am I lookin' for anythin' special?" he asked her.

Maggie reached her hand over where Daryl's was outstretched as he inspected the pill and she dropped the one from her hand into his.

Daryl looked from one pill to the other. He turned them both over and read the identical little numbers. Finally he looked at Maggie. He motioned his head towards the pills he held. "What tha fuck is this?"

"Do you know how lucky you are to be alive? You've been popping morphine thinking it was Tylenol."

Daryl looked at her with wide eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and she put up her hand to silence him.

"I'm not done yet!" she practically shouted. " You know why your neck hurts? Because I gave you three Naloxone injections straight into your jugular vein! You know why I did that? Because you weren't responding to artificial resuscitation. You know why I had to give you artificial resuscitation? Because you were ODing on morphine and you stopped breathing! Do you know why you were ODing ? Because you drank three damned beers after taking God knows how many of those damned pills thinking they were _Tylenol_! " The volume of her voice had increased as she spoke and when she finished she actually had been shouting at him. She closed her eyes tightly and clenched her fists, then opened her eyes and glared at him.

Daryl opened his mouth to speak, then closed it and then opened it again. "You serious? I was ODin'? On morphine?"

"Daryl, I like a good joke but I wouldn't joke about this. You scared me to half to death!"

It was Daryl's turn to be mad. "So whatcha yellin' at me for?! Why you so mad at _me_ 'bout it? You think I OD'd _on purpose?_ Fuck, woman, what the hell?!"

Daryl wiped the sweat from his brow. Naloxone. She had given him Naloxone. He knew what that was. He'd had an OD kit back home in case Merle had ever gone too far on one of his drug fueled "mind expandin' tours".

It took him a moment to process all this information and his mind reeled. No wonder he had thought the Tylenol worked so damned well. He'd been taking them two, three, even four at a time. Shit. That is why he had such a hard time waking up and paying attention when Rick was trying to talk to him. He'd been all doped up on morphine.

"I'm sorry!" Maggie yelled, "I'm yelling at you because I was scared and there's no one else here to yell at! I thought you were going to die!" It was quiet for a few minute then Maggie swallowed and quietly asked, "Does Shane really hate you so much that he'd want you dead? "

Daryl's silence was enough of an answer for her.

After a moment Daryl quietly asked, "You think Shane did this?" he motioned to the pills.

"I know he did. When we were patching you up Glenn went looking for him, couldn't find him anywhere. He tried the door to your room and it was locked. A little while later he came back through, Shane was on the deck and your room was unlocked. Of course it was Shane." Maggie sighed. "He's Rick's best friend. Even if Rick believes this, he'll be reluctant to confront Shane. Unless of course, he catches Shane red-handed doing something despicable."

She smiled at Daryl.

Maggie was surprised to find Daryl had been thinking of doing something similar in order to trap Shane.

Daryl told Maggie in detail what had happened with T-Dog and how he was sure that Shane was the one who had opened the gate and had set up a ramp next to it to allow the walker's easier access to the back yard, after all, Shane had been the one that had supposedly checked the fence.

They were both silent for a moment and then Maggie swallowed and said, '"It's after 3:30 in the morning. We need to get some sleep. We'll figure out how to deal with this and with setting Shane up a bit later in the morning."

Daryl nodded in agreement and yawned. Maggie stood up and Daryl did as well. He unbuttoned his jeans. Maggie was still standing there. "G'nite ," Daryl grumbled, waiting for her to take her leave so he could get out of his jeans and get into bed.

Maggie shook her head. "I'm staying in here tonight. "

"Bullshit you are," Daryl snorted.

"Yes, I am. If I go upstairs I'll just lie awake in that bed and worry and I won't get any sleep at all."

"Well if you're in here in this bed with me, neither of us will get any sleep .." Daryl stopped before he finished the sentence. That isn't how he meant it! Why oh why was he suddenly the master of the double entendre?

As tempting as it was to respond with a smart ass comment, Maggie smiled and let the remark slide. He'd had enough embarrassment for one night. Maybe.

"Daryl. You need to understand where I'm coming from. If I hadn't awakened and come downstairs when I did; if I'd slept through the night, I would have found you out on the deck later this morning cold and dead." She shuddered. "So, you just get yourself into this nice big bed and I'll get in on the other side and I won't get within three feet of you, but I'm staying here and I'll warn you, every so often I'll be checking your pulse, just to assure myself that you're still alive, so if you feel me touch your hand, don't stab me. Please. Okay?"

Daryl sighed and slid beneath the sheet.

"What," Maggie said, '"You're sleeping in your jeans now?"

"You think ah'm gonna get down to my boxers with you in here?! I know I ain't much to look at, but I ain't givin' no free peep shows r' nothin'." Daryl snapped.

Maggie laughed. "Oh, don't be shy, besides, I've seen it all already. You _do_ remember that I assisted with my Dad a couple days ago, right?"

Daryl blushed. "I left my boxers on." he mumbled, his back to her.

"Yes, and I made sure you had them _back on_ before you woke up."

Daryl didn't say a word. He slid out of the bed and grabbed two pillows. She was kidding, right? Of course she was. She'd damned well better be kidding.

"Where do you think you're going, Dixon?"

"To sleep on the couch."

"Aw, don't be like that. I was kidding. Your integrity is intact." She sighed. "This is awkward for me, too, but its the lesser of two evils. Please, just humor me. I'm still a bit freaked out and I just want to be able to reassure myself that it's over and you're okay. Okay?"

"I must be fuckin' nuts to be sayin' yes to this." He slid back under the sheet and reached over and turned off the lamp.

Daryl fell asleep first. Maggie heard his breathing slow down a bit and deepen and she rolled over so she was facing him. She watched his chest rise and fall for a minute and the sound of his breathing soon lulled her to sleep.


	35. Chapter 35

Maggie slid out of bed a little before 8am. She wasn't sure when Rick and his crew would be showing up and the last place she wanted to be when they did was snuggled up in Daryl Dixon's bed. If she was asleep and discovered there she'd have some 'splainin' to do. The bed was the most comfortable bed she had ever slept in and she woke only once after she had initially fallen asleep. It had been about 4:45am and she had slid over closer to Daryl then, seeking out his hands so she could check his pulse. He had curled up with his back to her, gripping a pillow to his chest tightly with both arms, his hands tight against his chest. She slid her fingers beneath the shaggy hair fanned out across his jawline and down the side of his neck, pressing her fingers to his carotid artery and felt the strong and steady thumping as his heart forced his blood through his body. He had flinched and mumbled something unintelligible but hadn't awakened.

Maggie made up her side of the bed, being careful not to wake Daryl and went upstairs to shower.

Half an hour later she was sitting on the deck with a cup of coffee in front of her. The air was heavy with humidity and she was thankful for the occasional light breeze that came across the lake and ruffled her hair. She had so many things going through her head that she felt like she was on speed.

She wondered if Shane would be with the group today and just how mad her Dad was going to be at her for staying overnight here. She wondered if he would go ballistic when she told him that she wanted to move into the house with Glenn.

There was no way in hell that she was going to mention what had happened with Daryl in the early hours of the morning out on the deck where she now sat, soaking up the morning sun.

Maggie wondered if she would be able to convince Rick to let her try to prove Shane's plot to get rid of Daryl. Rick needed to see what Shane was up to, he had to catch Shane in the act of behaving badly to actually be motivated enough to put an end to it. Rick would have to be convinced to humor her and to station himself in Daryl's closet or in the bathroom to listen to what would go down.

Maggie had come up with what she thought was a pretty good plan, but in order for it to work, Daryl would have to agree to go along with it and she wasn't sure if he would. She smiled to herself. There were ways to persuade him and she wasn't beyond using them.

* * *

Rick climbed into Shane's Hyundai and sighed. Lori had expressed her displeasure at being slated to be, once again, left behind while Rick and some of the others gallivanted off to this new supposedly wonderful house by a lake. After receiving the cold shoulder and having his amorous advances rebuffed by his wife the night before, Rick had caved in. Now Dale had relinquished his seat in the front to Lori and he slid into the back seat, pushing Glenn over into Hershel.

Carl had really wanted to come, too.

Shane was going to take Daryl's truck and start working on cutting up the logs that littered the roadway at the impassible road blockage on the way to the lake house. He had loaded two chain saws, a couple of 5 gallon tanks of gas, a peavey, a cant hook, three gallon jugs of water and a couple of pairs of heavy gloves into the truck bed. He had asked Lori if Carl could come with him to help and he would bring him to the lake house when he was done cutting wood. It would be hot, sweaty work and it would be nice to go for a swim afterward.

Lori had readily agreed and said she thought it was a wonderful idea.

Carl was excited as well and was eager to help Shane with the wood. He enjoyed spending time with Shane and Shane had promised to teach him how to use a chainsaw today. Of course, this promise had not been made while Lori was in earshot and Carl knew better than to let his mother in on his and Shane's plans to let Carl handle something motorized, sharp and dangerous. She would have been livid.

Carl jumped into the passenger seat of the old truck and pulled his father's hat down firmly on his head. Shane started the old truck up and revved the engine, then put it into gear and pulled in behind his Hyundai as Rick lead the little two vehicle caravan down the dusty, gravel drive.

Shane shifted into third and the gears groaned and growled as they ground together. Shane smirked, no one had damned well better do that with his vehicle, but so what if he was grinding gears in Daryl's piece of shit truck? It was more or less his now, anyway. After all, if things today went the way he was planning, he was pretty sure that Dixon wasn't ever going to be driving anything ever again.

Shane did feel bad about what had happened to T-Dog. Hurting him had never been his intention, but the stupid redneck who was the intended target had avoided becoming walker food. Shane had tried to subtly push the theory that Daryl had been drugged up and had killed T-Dog because after all, why would he go through all the trouble, wounded and hurting as he was, to bury the man when he knew that a group of them would be there the next day unless he had something to hide? Shane noticed Rick furrowed his brow at the suggestion and Shane could see him struggling with whether or not he believed Daryl's version of what had lead to T-Dog's death. Rick had known that Daryl was stoned on pain meds when they'd arrived at the lake house yesterday and he knew as well as Shane did that when people were all drugged up on Vitamin M, they tended to do things they wouldn't normally do. Some of those things ended up being tragic and horrific. Shane had planted the seeds of doubt in Rick's mind. Now he just had to water them a bit and watch them grow.

* * *

Lori stared out the window as the Hyundai headed for the lake house. Occasionally she would look in the side mirror and glance at Shane and Carl in the truck behind them. This time Carl was laughing and Shane had a shocked look on his face, as if Carl had just told him the punchline to an off color joke.

Lori smiled a sad little smile. She was trying to be a good wife to Rick, but it was hard.

Before Rick's miraculous and unexpected return, she had been happy with Shane. She had grieved for Rick and Shane had grieved with her, and with Shane's help and understanding, she had moved on. Shane had stepped into Rick's shoes and had become her best friend, her confidante, and her lover. He was her strength and her security. Shane had told Carl that he could never and would never even try to replace his father, but he would try to be the best role model and father figure he could for him. Lori had no doubt that Shane loved her and that he loved Carl and that if he had to, he would die protecting them. How was she supposed to erase all of that, all those experiences, all those feelings, the bond that she had formed with Shane?

She had been so shocked and happy when she'd seen the face of her husband as he walked, unsure of what he was seeing, and then ran towards her and Carl. She had hugged him so hard, crying tears of joy and relief and she had kissed him, gazing with wonder into those big blue eyes that she thought she'd never see again.

Lori had dropped Shane like a hot potato and she had been furious with him. He'd obviously lied to her. He had told her that Rick was dead.

It was only after a couple of weeks that she had let Shane explain himself. Once he had, she knew he hadn't been lying when he had told her that he was sure Rick was dead when he'd gone to the hospital to try to get him out before Atlanta fell to the undead. Lori felt guilty then, because Shane had been happy to see his best friend alive and well, too, and had quickly stepped aside and let Rick take back the role of Lori's husband, Carl's father and their protector.

The sad thing was that Lori had now realized that Shane had actually been better in that role than Rick was. Shane had put her and Carl first in all that he did and with Rick, the group came first. Lori had realized that Shane's act of stepping back and letting Rick retake his place in her and Carl's lives and as leader of the group had hurt Shane, hurt him terribly, but he had done it just the same. After all, Rick was his best friend.

Lori believed Shane and was sure that Daryl had killed T-Dog. It was the only thing that made any sense. She had never felt comfortable around Daryl. He was coarse and rude and she had never heard anyone cuss so much in her life, except maybe his equally disgusting older brother. She had been mortified when Rick had fallen all over Daryl when he'd returned, injured, after finding Sophia's doll while searching for the missing girl. Rick had praised the man six ways to Sunday for finding that damned doll and doted on him like he was the second coming. It had darn near nauseated her.

Shane had shared in her disgust with the way Rick was all over Daryl."Why is he so smitten with that idiot? What kind of fool would get thrown off a horse and impale himself on his own damned arrow? If he'd died he would have been my nominee for the Darwin Awards."

When Lori had expressed surprise that Daryl had been able to drag his wounded ass back to camp and hadn't died, Shane had said, "Dixons are like cockroaches. Sneaky, dirty disgusting things and damned near impossible to kill." It had made her laugh.

Rick took her hand and squeezed it. She shot him a little smile and then turned her attention back to the window and watched the fields and trees roll by.

* * *

Daryl cracked an eye open and yawned into the pillow he had hugged against his chest. The room was bathed in light and for a second he didn't know where he was. His memory awoke and caught up with him and the little that he could remember from the events that had occurred hours earlier that morning sprung to life in his mind. Maggie had told him he'd OD'd on morphine and then…

He attempted to rub the sleepiness from his eyes. "Maggie?" he whispered hoarsely. His throat felt like he'd been gargling with razor blades and his mouth felt like he'd been chewing on cotton balls. He rolled onto his back and looked to his left. He was alone in his bed and the other side was made and looked as though it hadn't been slept in. He sighed. He was sure she had insisted on sleeping in his bed last night. He hadn't dreamed that, had he? He vaguely remembered her yelling at him and telling him he'd scared her. He yawned again and closed his eyes. Damn, he was so tired and he felt like he was in a fog.

Maybe he just would take Hershel's orders to heart and stay in bed all day. That would make Hershel happy. He'd be following the vet's instructions and if he was able to sleep, it would make the day go by faster. He pulled the sheet up over his shoulders and snuggled back down into the quilt he'd managed to somehow cocoon himself into overnight. He was on the verge of falling asleep again when the smell of bacon cooking wafted into the bedroom.

His stomach growled and he suddenly realized that he was hungry. Very hungry. He opened his eyes and pulled himself up with a groan. He sat still on the edge of the bed for a minute, waiting for the cobwebs in his head to disperse.

Once his head was clear, he trudged into the bathroom and closed the door. He looked in the mirror over the sink. His hair stuck out in all directions and the hair that fell at his temples had twisted into odd looking loose spirals. He had dark circles under his eyes and the scruffy beard on his chin was a bit longer than he was used to and had spread down beneath his neck. He would shave the damned thing off today. If he was going to be confined to his room most of the time for the next couple of weeks, he might as well shave it off now and then he wouldn't have to bother with it for the rest of the period that he considered his" incarceration." He knew he'd be free to walk around the house and he might spend some time in the den on third floor, the one with all the trophies in it, but he also knew that Rick was planning on moving the group into the house soon.

He really didn't want to be running into them all the time, to feel their eyes on him, looking down on him, judging him, and Carol….how was he going to deal with her? She hated him. He had failed her, failed Sophia and now Carol was hurt and angry with him and did anyone ever get over the loss of a child if they actually loved them?

"Momma never got over lil' Reb." Imaginary Merle reminded him.

Daryl splashed cold water on his face and nodded. He remembered .

He had never met his other brother. Rebel had been born when Merle was six years old. Daryl had seen a couple of photos of Reb, photos of him standing next to Merle and sitting on their Momma's lap. The boy in the photos was a small boy, about three years of age with thick, pitch black hair and pale blue eyes.

Daryl remembered being about five years old and his Momma sitting with him at night as she had him say his prayers. "Now I lay me down to sleep...". She had taught him to always include little Reb in his nightly prayers and one night Daryl had asked her why. "Isn't Reb in heaven, Momma?" he had said. She had nodded, tears in her eyes and he had asked, "so why do we got ta pray for 'im if he's already in heaven?" His momma had hugged him and kissed his cheek and said, "because he likes it when his little brother prays for him and so do I." Momma had always referred to Rebel as her little angel.

Daryl never knew how his brother had died and Merle wouldn't tell him. "I got nightmares 'bout it 'nough fer tha both a us." He'd say when Daryl would ask. Daryl stopped asking when he was 17 after Merle had popped him in the face good and hard; breaking his nose and blackening his right eye and told him not to ask him again. Daryl then figured it was probably something he'd rather not know anyway.

Carol loved Sophia and Daryl knew Carol would never, could never forgive him for the loss of her daughter and he would have to avoid her as best he could, for both their sakes. He wondered if she would feel a bit better if she knew that he'd never forgive himself for not finding the young girl, either, and that his failure would haunt him until the day he died.

Daryl decided he would talk to Rick about getting a door put in where one of the windows was in his room. He could climb in and out a window, but with his incision still healing, it probably wasn't a good idea. Having a door to the outside would come in handy when trying to avoid all the people that would soon be invading the house.

Daryl made his way towards the kitchen, the smell of the bacon getting stronger and now mingling with the smell of coffee and something else that he couldn't quite place. He almost bumped into Maggie as he started into the kitchen from the dining room.

She smiled at him, "Oh, good, you're up. I made breakfast for us." She reached for his arm and he pulled it away from her as he backed up two steps. She smirked at him and closed the space between them and reached out again and grabbed his arm. "I swear, Dixon," she scolded, "you're jumpier than a long tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs." and she steered him towards the door that opened onto the deck.

"'Jes' don' like bein' touched. Why y'all gotta always be touchin' me? T-Dog was always touchin' me, Rick tries ta fuckin' touch me an' lookit ya. I fuckin' hate it. Whut, m' I the family dog er' sumthin'?"" he grumbled as she pulled him along with a steely grip on his arm.

Maggie smiled as she pulled Daryl towards the patio table. "Its because we're not supposed to. Kind of like that saying, 'God made cats so mankind would know how it felt to pat the tiger.' Well, sometimes we just want to risk it all and pat the tiger anyway. "

Daryl grinned mischievously, "Ya callin' me a tiger?" he raised his eyebrows at her and did she actually see a gleam in his eye?

"Hey, you're the one that's always sayin' you're not a pussy and accusing everyone else of being one. If you're not a pussycat, you must be a tiger." She motioned for him to sit at the end of the table and she sat down on the other side of the corner.

He looked at the food she'd placed on the table. "Yer Betty Crocker in disguise, ain't ya?" he asked her. A pot of dark, tarry looking coffee with whisps of steam floating up from its surface sat close to his plate. She'd made it extra super strong again. There was a plate heaped high with bacon, a plate with a pile of hot biscuits, a bowl of hot grits and a large gravy boat filled with sausage gravy spread out across the end of the table where they sat. She'd placed the salt and pepper and butter on the table as well and had set a place for each of them, complete with a folded napkin. A pitcher of orange juice dripping with condensation finished off the spread. "So whats the occasion?" he asked her as he tossed two biscuits on his plate and proceeded to drown them with sausage gravy.

She smiled and poured a glass of orange juice for herself. "The downfall of Shane Walsh," she announced.

"'N what a mighty fall it'll be." Daryl reached for the orange juice. "Where 'n hell did ya get orange juice?" he asked her before he drank the whole glass. Damn, he hadn't had orange juice for a long long time.

"There s a bunch of cans of frozen condensed juice out in the garage in the freezer with all the frozen fruit in it. I just had to dig a bit." She said.

"So," he asked her between bites of biscuit, "whadaya want?"

"What do I want?"

"Yeah. Whadaya want? A woman don't put out a spread like this 'less she's lookin' ta get somethin' back."

Maggie couldn't resist. She gave him a devilish smile. "I know we usually don't have it at breakfast, but I was hoping that you'd agree to be dessert; " she winked at him, "if you know what I mean."

Daryl felt his face get hot and he dropped the three pieces of bacon he'd just grabbed off the plate. His chair scraped against the deck as he pushed it backward and prepared to make his escape.

"Oh come on, you know I'm kidding. I mean, you might be the tiger of our group but I'm totally in love with my pussycat." She smiled at him and he pulled the chair back in closer to the table.

"See? Why y'all gotta tease like that. Ain't nice. Makes me way uncomf'table. No more a' that shit, 'k?"

Maggie sighed, "You're right, I'm sorry. Well, not really, but back to the Shane situation. You know Shane is going to want to see you. He's going to want to see how you're doing, how things are set up, what his options are and how best to make a move. "

Daryl nodded. "Ah was thinkin' the same thin'. Figured ah'd make 'im think it'd be easy for 'im, maybe he'd put 'is guard down, get cocky, not be so careful. If ah'm an easy mark, he won't be worried 'bout bein' caught doin' anythin'".

Maggie smiled. It looked like the bribery breakfast might have been a waste of time. Daryl was suggesting the part of her plan that she was sure he would resist. He was going to be the bait.

"Figured we could let 'im think we hadn't figured out the pill switchin' he did. Ah could make it look like ah'm taken four 'r five of em' at once. Ah'm bettin' he'd either wait aroun' ta see if they'd tire me out 'r leave an' come back later." He laughed. "'S morbid as hell, but wanna make a bet?"

Maggie smiled. Daryl was laughing as if this was going to be like playing some sort of harmless prank.

"What kind of bet?" she asked.

"How do ya think he'll try ta do it? He ain't gonna wan' it ta look like he did nothin'. I'm bettin' 'pillow over the face' when he thinks ah'm sleepin'. "

Maggie smiled and gasped, putting a hand over her mouth theatrically. "Daryl Dixon, you're a sick sick man! You want to bet on murder method?" She laughed.

"One week of doing dishes when it's my turn says he stole a bottle of Midazolam and he's going to try to give you a shot of that. Dad used 2 mills to put you flat on your back and the bottles hold 10 mls. If he did grab a vial of it, I'm betting he'll try to inject you with a helluva lot more than just 2 mls. "

"Ain't no way in hell Ah'd give 'im a chance ta get close enough ta me ta do that." Daryl said.

He was looking out across the lake and Maggie thought she detected a new and different expression on his face. Concern? Worry? Doubt? Was it fear?

"I'll be standing by with a shot of Flumazenil just in case, " she assured him. "That's the antidote for a Midazolam overdose."

He looked over at her. "How do ya know all that shit? 'Bout drugs an' stuff?"

She swallowed as he studied her with those damned beautiful sky blue eyes of his. She had never seen anyone with eyes that color, that expressive and thought to herself what a waste it was for God to bless Daryl Dixon, of all people, with those eyes. "I went to college for pharmacology. I also worked in an inner city methadone clinic and a psychiatric hospital while I was in school, so I'm very familiar with psychotropic drugs, narcotics and opiates. They were sort of my specialty." She smiled at Daryl, almost embarrassed. Did it sound like she was bragging? She hoped not.

Daryl nodded. "Good stuff ta know." He stole a glance at her. She was smiling and blushing and looking down at the grits on her plate. He smiled to himself. She was embarrassed. It made him like her just a bit more. There had been no conceit meant when she had been telling him about her schooling.

"She likes 'ya baby bro'. Y'all could steal 'er from ching-chang-chung slanty eyes. Hell, compared ta 'im yer almos' a real man. Y'all heard her say yer a tiger." Imaginary Merle laughed. "More like a tiger-lily." He scoffed, "but she likes ya. C'mon boy. Ya best be gettin' some tail or ol' Merle's gonna think y'all in love with yer hand."

Daryl ignored Imaginary Merle. He did like Maggie, but not like that. The last thing he wanted or needed in this messy world was a relationship and all the distractions and bullshit it would bring with it. His life was fucked up enough as it was, thank you very much.

Daryl finished his last piece of bacon and his coffee. He stood up and moved to pick up his plate to bring it inside. "Thanks. Prolly the best breakfast ah've 'ad since this whole walker clusterfuck started," he said and he meant it.

"Why thank you, Mr. Dixon. Now just leave your plates, I'll get them."

He scowled at her, "'Ah'm not a fuck'in invalid. Ah can get 'em."

She glared at him, "I didn't say you were. I was just being nice. I figured you'd want to get into the shower and get yourself all prettied up for your date with Shane."

His eyes got wide, cripes, did she think he stunk? Did he? Well, he had puked his guts out several hours ago, but he'd rinsed his mouth out since then. Twice.

"You never said what you wanted in payment if you win our sick little bet." She reminded him.

He smiled. He could tell her she would have to do the chicken dance some night out here on the patio table in front of everyone.

"Naked." added Imaginary Merle. …...aw come on! At least in 'er underwear!"

"Okay, ya gotta skin whatever small game ah bring in fer a week." He said.

Imaginary Merle groaned.

Maggie flashed that pretty smile of hers again. "Deal," she said, sticking out her hand.

They shook on it.

* * *

Three hours later Maggie heard the F150 descending the driveway. She'd gone up and unlocked and opened the gate two hours before and was in the back yard weeding the garden when the truck came to a stop near the chain link fence.

She smiled as Glenn leaped out of one of the back doors of the truck and practically vaulted the fence, running up to her and pulling her into a tight hug.

He released her and smiled as he held her at arms length, taking in her beauty. "So," he asked her, "how did things go last night?"


	36. Chapter 36

**Sorry for the wait on this. Real life has been crazy mad lately. **

Daryl was getting restless. It was an extremely hot and humid day and he had entertained himself by sitting on the end of the dock with the legs of his brown Carhartt pants rolled up and dragging his feet through the cool water.

He had made his way up to the second floor and entered the bedroom that was going to be Glenn and possibly Maggie's. It was the room that had belonged to the boy with all the guitars, and Daryl had helped himself to two of them, a Gibson acoustic Doves in Flight and a Taylor custom 12 string acoustic. He stowed the 12 string in the closet in his room and took the Gibson out to play with.

Daryl had started playing the guitar when he was about 8. His mother had played and he had vague memories of her playing and singing in the bedroom he shared with Merle. She had a lovely voice and she had sung old ballads and songs. "Down in the Valley" was one she did often, and it was the first song Daryl taught himself. His mother had disappeared when he was 7; his father telling him and Merle that she had gotten sick and tired taking care of their lazy, good for nothing asses and had never wanted them anyway. Now she was gone and it was all Daryl and Merle's fault, but especially Daryl's. Merle was never asking her for help with his homework or asking stupid questions about birds and squirrels and clouds and other nonsense such as that like dumb-ass Daryl always did. That had certainly helped to drive the poor woman nuts, according to his father. Daryl had felt terrible and for a while, Merle had taken every opportunity he could to rub it into his younger brother's face.

Daryl had found his mother's guitar in the back of his father's truck one Saturday morning. He was taking a load of things to the dump, and Daryl noticed that most of what he was taking were his mother's belongings. Her clothes, the little collection of glass and ceramic angel figures, her knitting basket and needles, the basket brimming with partially knit mittens and an almost finished dark blue sweater, and a pile of photographs, including Merle and Daryl's school pictures. Daryl had grabbed the photos of his mother with Merle and Rebel , stuffing them into the pages of one of his school books, and he had swiped the guitar, an old Martin, and had hidden it in a tent that was set up deep in the woods behind their back yard.

Merle had bought it for him for his 7th birthday; a little army pup tent from the surplus army store, and Daryl had thought it was the best present in the whole wide world. Their father had never seen it and Merle had set it up for Daryl where it now stood. Merle used it when he didn't have any other place to get high or drunk or if he didn't have a place to sleep when the old man would get mad and throw him out. Daryl figured out that Merle had pretty much bought the tent for himself, but as long as Merle tolerated his presence in the tent, Daryl was happy.

Daryl would go to the tent after school, take the old guitar out of its' case, and try to mimic the little he could remember of his mother moving her hands along the frets and pressing her fingers down on the strings. He didn't have very good luck. His father liked to watch "Hee Haw" on Sunday evenings and Daryl hated it, but he started sneaking into the living room and sitting on the floor next to the couch when it was on. He would watch Roy Clark and Buck Owens and whatever hick guest stars would be on the program play their guitars and try to memorize the various positions of their fingers as they played chords. Merle teased Daryl and called him a pussy for trying to learn to play the guitar, but as time went by and Daryl started to get good at it, Merle would ask Daryl if he thought he could play some Skynyrd, and Daryl would do his best. Merle was usually drunk or stoned when he asked, but Daryl didn't mind and Merle would fall all over himself telling Daryl how good his playing was and how proud their momma would be. Of course, when Merle sobered up or came down, Daryl was back to being the guitar playing pussy fag, but that was okay. Merle had never hit him for playing the guitar or told him to stop when he was practicing.

Now Daryl sat with the Gibson in his lap, adjusting the tuners as he dragged his feet through the water. The guitar was nicer than anything he had ever played, although it was a bit too ornate for his liking. "Pussy artsy fartsy gay lookin' thing." Imaginary Merle commented, "fits ya just perfect, mah pussy artsty fartsty gay lookin' baby bro."

Daryl, having finished tuning the guitar, strummed a C chord and sang under his breath, "Fuuuuuck you… Merle."

" Imaginary Merle snorted, "Great comeback, baby brother. Ya ain't the sharpest tool in a' shed, are ya?"

The first brain fart of the day arrived. Daryl strummed a couple more chords and lowered his voice so it was deep and scratchy and quietly sang, "Mah name is Merle an' I'm a fuckin' dumb ass, an' if mah brain turned inta gas, thar wouldn't be enough ya know ta get an ant on a bike 'round a Cheerio."

"Oh ha ha, tha's rich. An' baby brother? Y'all do ever'one a favor an stuff that guitar up yer narrow lil' pansy gay ass."

Daryl strummed on the guitar for a few more minutes. It was getting too hot sitting in the sun. Sweat started running down his face and his neck and his sleeveless t shirt was starting to get damp with sweat. He placed the guitar back into the case and was just standing up when he heard the F150 descending the driveway.

Maggie had said something about weeding the garden so more than likely she was out in the back yard and could greet today's group of invaders. Invaders? Visitors. Yeah, that was it. Visitors.

Daryl wasn't in any mood to be around a lot of people, (was he ever?) and picked up the guitar and walked inside to seclude himself in his room. He heard Hershel's voice drift in through his partially open window and sighed and rolled his eyes.

Hershel was going to give him holy hell. Daryl started to get mad anticipating the tongue lashing that he knew he was in store for. He couldn't help it that he had a bad temper and that Rick had fueled the fire yesterday by accusing him of taking a shitload of morphine.

Of course, he hadn't known what the hell Rick had been talking about and then Rick had asked if he'd killed T-Dog. Now _that _had really pissed him off. Yeah, he was scum compared to the rest of the group, and he knew that. He knew Rick thought he was scum just like the rest of them did, but he had been surprised and more than a little hurt that Rick had thought he was even more vile and aberrant than scum. How could Rick actually even think that he would have it in him to kill T-Dog? Shane, maybe, but T-Dog? Shit, why did he even care what Rick or any of them thought of him?

"Fuck 'em." He said under his breath as he stowed the guitar away in his closet. "_Fuck 'em all_."

* * *

Glenn released Maggie from the hug he had just given her. "So," he said, "how did things go last night?"

"I'll tell you all about ita little later, " she promised him, "come on, lets help Dad and Dale." Maggie rushed to the fence to see if she could assist her father as Rick and Dale prepared to boost him up over the chain link fence. Glenn was right behind her and held on to Hershel with her as he scrambled to make his way onto solid ground again inside the fence.

"Rick," Hershel exclaimed when he'd caught his breath, "please tell me that you will be installing a gate on this side of the fence today before we leave."

Lori was right behind Rick and nodded, "Yes, Rick," she added, "You do intend to do that today, don't you? "

Dale stood next to Lori. "I would find that extremely helpful as well," he said. "Now do you think you could give me a boost up onto this fence, too? I'm not as young as I used to be and I'm afraid my fence vaulting days are over."

Rick laughed and gave Dale a boost up onto the fence and Maggie and Glenn helped him down on the other side.

"Yes, I'll get the gate moved today."Rick looked through the fence at Glenn as he boosted Lori up and over it "Glenn, you wouldn't mind helping me with that, would you?"

"Heck, no. It would be my pleasure." Glen answered with a smile.

Rick smiled. "Shane and Carl will probably be here later this afternoon and Shane can help, too."

Dale volunteered to help as well. Rick hoisted himself up over the fence and jumped down, landing on both feet in front of Maggie.

He had been anxious all the way to the lake house. Daryl had still been off on his motorcycle when Rick had left the evening before. Rick had been quite sure that Daryl would be returning to the house, but with Daryl, you never could be sure of what he might do. He was relieved when he drove down the driveway to the house to see Daryl's Harley parked nearby.

He reached over for Lori's hand and then addressed Maggie. "Hows Daryl doing?"

Maggie thought she saw Lori roll her eyes. "He's doing just fine. Ate like a horse at breakfast. He said he slept alright. He's actually been a very good boy. I think riding off like he did took more out of him and ended up hurting him more than he thought it would."

"Good." said Hershel. "Maybe it was just the incentive he needed to keep himself still for a few days."

Dale readjusted his hat on his head, "We've all heard that he isn't very good at following doctor's orders."

Rick nodded. "Isn't that the truth. How long after we left before he got back? "

"Couple hours, I'd say. He really wore himself out."

Rick nodded, "I need to talk to him about the meds he's been taking."Maggie shot him a surprised look and noticed that Lori did as well.

"Why," Lori asked, "is there something wrong with what he's taking?"

Rick looked wide eyed at Lori and then at Maggie and pulled an excuse out of his hat, "I'm not sure. I just want to see how they're making him feel. He was disoriented and way too tired yesterday early afternoon when I was trying to talk to him."

Maggie smiled. "Yeah, he's trying to fix that. He's been really trying to take the Tylenol instead of the stronger stuff. I saw him pop four of them at once last night. I told him that he's going to destroy his liver, taking acetaminophen in those quantities, but you know Daryl He never listens to anyone."

Rick looked worried, " He took four Tylenol? All at once? And he's okay?"

"He's fine." Maggie said with a smile.

Lori smiled, "four at a time? Why not just take the stronger stuff?"

"I think he's afraid of becoming addicted. I think he's seen a lot of people go down that path."

"I'll bet," Lori said under her breath. Lori cleared her throat and smiled as she squeezed her husband's hand. "You're going to show me and Dale around before you talk to him, aren't you, or is it more important to talk to Daryl first?"

Rick smiled at his wife. "Of course I'll show you around first." He brought her hand that he held in his up to his lips and kissed it. "I can talk to Daryl later." He smiled at Dale. "You are both going to love this place."

Dale grinned and said, "I'm already impressed with what I've seen so far."

Lori squeezed Rick's hand and agreed with Dale, "So am I."

Maggie told them that there was a pitcher of iced sweet tea in the refrigerator for them and Maggie and Glenn set off to find out where Hershel had disappeared to. Maggie had seen him as he went into the house and wondered if he was going to be giving Daryl an earful. She was sure Shane had filled her dad in on Daryl's pulled stitches.

Maggie and Glenn found Hershel in Daryl's room just as Maggie had expected that they would. Daryl was on the bed lying on his right side with his undershirt pulled up high on his chest.

Hershel was just starting to peel away the tape around the bloody bandage. He was in the midst of giving Daryl a lecture. "When was this last changed? It looks like you've been having quite a bit of bleeding. How is the pain? Bearable? Son, what on earth made you think that leaving this house and driving away on a motorcycle so soon after undergoing a surgical procedure was a good idea?"

Glenn smiled and waved at Daryl, "Hey. I just wanted to see how you're doing."

Daryl nodded in his direction, but didn't look at Glenn or Maggie. He was watching Hershel as he pulled the bandage off, mentally preparing himself for the browbeating he was sure was coming in a matter of seconds. He wasn't disappointed.

"What on earth happened? What is this? You not only pulled your stitches, you literally shredded a good half inch of skin and connective tissue. Are you trying to get an infection? Look at this! Just look! See this lump right here?" Hershel pressed down on an area of stitches Daryl had sewn the day before. Daryl flinched and hissed. That fuckin' hurt. "This means that the stitches in the muscle below this are ripped, too. Do you know what this means?"

Daryl sighed, "Ah got a pretty good idear but ah'm sure yer gonna tell me."

"It means that I've got to pull these stitches and stitch up the muscle layer and then restitch the skin and connective tissue." He dabbed at the bloody stitches with a gauze pad soaked with betadine. "So," he asked Daryl, "Do you want to come upstairs to the med room or shall I take care of this right here?"

"Which is easier fer ya?"

Hershel blinked. He was surprised that Daryl hadn't protested or resisted Hershel's plans to repair the incision sutures. He was even more surprised that the gruff and usually disagreeable man was seeking to go whichever route was easier for Hershel

"It would probably be easier for me to use the medical room on the third floor," Hershel announced. "It would make for easier access in case I'm suddenly in need of a surgical instrument..."

"Or a debilitating drug?" Daryl added sarcastically.

"If necessary, I suppose," Hershel shot back.

The corners of Daryl's mouth turned up just slightly. The old man certainly had balls.

* * *

Rick smiled. Dale had gone with Maggie for his own personal tour of the house and he and Lori were on their own and Lori was falling in love with the place. She had all but shrieked when she first saw the kitchen, inspecting all the stainless steel appliances and the smooth rose granite counter tops. There was even a dishwasher. The kitchen island had cupboards beneath it that held a full set of Le Crueset and All Clad cookware. Lori walked over to Rick, who was just popping a k-cup into the Keurig coffee maker and wrapped her arms around him from behind him. "I can't get over this! This is my dream kitchen. Last year when we were talking about remodeling, these are all the things we had on the list, and more!"

Rick turned around, a big smile on his face, and hugged her, then kissed her forehead. "See? I told you you'd like this place, and you've only seen one room!"

Rick lead Lori up the stairs and showed her the bedroom that was going to be theirs. It had a two windows overlooking the lake and Lori forgot her anger about not having the master bedroom on the first floor. This was a lovely large room and there was a walk in closet that was almost as big as Carl's bedroom had been back at their house. Suits and dress shirts hung on one side of the closet and dresses, skirts and blouses hung on the other. A neat row of shoes ran across the carpet beneath the hanging clothes on each side of the closet. A shelf above the hanging clothes held folded sweaters and dress pants. The room's furnishings were made of cherry. The bed was a queen sized bed and there was a bookcase headboard and a nightstand on each side of the bed. Lori opened the cedar chest at the foot of the bed and smiled as she inspected and handled the contents. "Look at these linens!" she said happily as she looked up at Rick who had seated himself on the edge of the bed. "Flannel sheets, down comforters, quilts and duvets. This will be so nice for cold winter nights!" She approached the big double dresser with the huge framed mirror over it and started going through the drawers. There were women's clothes and undergarments in the double dresser. A similar search of the tall bureau on the other wall revealed drawers full of men's clothing and undergarments .

"We need to go through the clothes, " Lori told Rick. "Once everyone is here, we can get them all together and sort out whatever fits us. I'm sure everyone would love to have some new pieces of clothing."

Rick came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, "So, now you think moving in here is a good idea?" She smiled and looked at his reflection in the mirror as he peered in it over her shoulder. "Rick, I'm sorry I doubted you. I think this house is wonderful, if we can be sure it's safe. "

"I'll make sure its safe; and you haven't even seen all of it." Rick grinned. He was happy that Lori had softened to the idea of moving into the lake house. She seemed pleased with this room as well. For a second he thought of asking her if she was over wanting Daryl's room, but then his brain kicked into gear and he didn't mention it. After all, the door to Daryl's room had been closed when they walked by towards the laundry room and they could hear Hershel speaking rather loudly to Daryl through the door.

Rick showed Lori the rest of the house. Lori smiled when they entered the game room on the third floor. "Carl is going to love this! Look at the size of those screens, too." She walked over to the shelves of DVD movies and looked them over before turning back to Rick with a smile on her face. "We can have movie nights! " She embraced her husband, gave him a quick kiss and then held him, her head on his shoulder. "This is amazing. Hot water on a regular basis, a great kitchen, a working laundry room, our own room with a big comfortable bed and its fenced in." She hugged him harder. "Thank you Rick, thank you doing your best to keep us all safe."

Rick held her and kissed her forehead. What was he supposed to say? Daryl had found this place, so really it was Daryl that deserved the thanks. Rick smiled when he thought of the chain of events that had brought him to this place. If Shane hadn't had the fight with Daryl, would Daryl have left and found this place? If Daryl hadn't left his crossbow lubricant back where the last pile up of cars was on the highway, would Rick and T-Dog have even found him? If they hadn't met up with Daryl that day, things would be so different. Daryl would have been royally screwed. He could have become a walker dinner on the highway that day and if he had avoided that fate he would have succumbed to internal bleeding within a week. The lake house would have sat, unused and unknown to the group. Right now, at this moment, Rick thought, he was happy. In the midst of the hell on earth they had been plunged into, sometimes, just sometimes, life gave you a good bounce.

* * *

Glenn was excited. He had been in the war room since leaving Daryl's room earlier and Maggie was giving Dale the grand tour. He loved spending time with Maggie, but this was some serious work he was doing and he was actually grateful for the lack of distraction while she was off with Dale. Glenn was fiddling around with the security system camera program while sitting at one of the stations below the wall of monitors. Now he had nine of the camera feeds showing active in the computer program, but not showing up on the monitors. He swore to himself that he would have all the cameras online before he left that day.

Rick came into the war room with Lori. "Please tell me this room is kept locked!" she exclaimed, eyeing the firearms on the wall. A room like this was just begging for Carl to explore and run wild in it.

Rick tried to reassure her. "It will be locked and you know I've already spoken to Carl about this room. He is not allowed in here at all without adult supervision."

Lori looked rather doubtful, but nodded. Rick showed her the med room and the sleeping quarters room. He explained to her that the room had been locked and padlocked and that Daryl had found two walkers in the room when he had finally gotten it open. Lori walked down the hall with Rick, hand in hand. "I'd like to stop in and say 'hi' to Daryl," she said to Rick.

"Really?" Rick scratched his head. " I know you're not a big fan of Daryl's. Why would you want to do that?"

"I admit, Daryl is a bit too rough around the edges for me to have much of a desire to want to get to know him very well, and I don't think he likes people in general anyway, but he did tell you about this place and invite us here. That tells me that I misjudged him and that he really isn't the selfish jerk I thought he was." She paused for a moment. "I still think hes a jerk" she added," just not a selfish one."

Rick smiled. In his opinion, Lori was closer to the truth than she thought. Daryl was one of the biggest jerks he'd ever met, with Merle coming out on top of the list which was impressive as Rick had given Merle that coveted top spot less than ten minutes after meeting the man. Daryl was down near the middle of the list. Ed's 'jerk' rating had been higher than Daryl's. Lori was right, Daryl wasn't selfish, but he was anti-social, sarcastic, suspicious and as stubborn as a mule; all completely valid 'jerk' qualities.

"I'll go in with you,"volunteered Rick. "I'd like to see how he's doing and I need to talk to him, too."

Lori shook her head. "I'd really like to talk to him alone, if that's okay with you. You know, thank him for inviting us to come here, tell him how much I like the house."

Rick nodded, "That's really nice of you honey. I'm sure he'd like that."

On their way downstairs, Rick and Lori passed Hershel, Dale and Maggie on the stairs to the second floor as they made their way up to the third. Dale was grinning ear to ear. "This house is fantastic!" he said as she grasped Rick's arm for a second in passing. "I think we'll all be very comfortable here." Rick agreed wholeheartedly as he continued down the stairs.

When they reached the first floor, Rick gave Lori a squeeze. "I'm going to pour some iced sweet tea for us. I think it would be nice to sit on the deck for a little while, talk, you know, make some plans."

Lori smiled and squeezed his hand, "that sounds wonderful . I'm just going to pop in and see Daryl and I'll be right out. " She kissed Rick on the cheek and he walked towards the dining room as she approached the door to Daryl's room.

Lori bit her lower lip and sighed, then rapped her knuckles on the door.

"C'mon in." came a gruff and tired sounding voice from the room.

Lori pushed the door open and stepped into the room.

Daryl was sitting up in the bed, restringing his crossbow, his eyes glued to the task at hand. He glanced quickly at Lori and then back to the cam he was threading the string through. "Hey, Lori," he said. "Slummin' it taday?"

"Now Daryl," she scolded as she looked around the room, "is that any way to greet a visitor?"

"Pfft." Daryl snorted. "Sorry, I'm fresh outta champagne and fancy hors d'oeuvres or I'd offer ya some. "

Lori walked over to the entrance to the bathroom and peeked inside.

Daryl smirked. "Do'n be shy, go on in there an' take a look aroun'. Be kind in yer assessment, though. Maid's got tha day off an' I ain't much for housekeepin'."

Lori looked around at the bathroom. She ran her fingers along the smooth stones imbedded in the walls and walked over and looked into the huge Jacuzzi tub. This was amazing. Even the shower was impressive, and the little built in bench was so cute! This was not a bathroom made with a man like Daryl Dixon in mind. It was, however one made with someone like Lori Grimes, someone who appreciated the finer things in life, in mind. She stepped back out into the bedroom and looked around at it. It was huge and the furniture and the Berber carpeting was of very high quality. The bed was huge. Why the hell did Daryl need such a big bed?

His eyes had followed her as she came out of the bathroom and she suddenly noticed that he was watching her.

"This is a pretty big, fancy bedroom." She commented as she sat herself down in the chair by the closet. "Are you comfortable in here? "

Daryl wasn't quite sure how she meant that because yes, he was comfortable in that room and no, he wasn't. Physically, yes, he was extremely comfortable, but was he comfortable being in that room? No, because it was too good for him. He didn't deserve a room like that and he knew it. Worse than that, Lori knew it and would make no bones about saying so. He smiled the nicest fake smile he could muster and said, "Yes. Yes ah am."

"Good. I'm surprised, though. I thought a guy like you would think this was all way too fancy….and that bed, that bed is big enough for four people. You must feel lost in there at night."

Daryl put his crossbow on the bed next to him, folded his arms across his chest and sighed. "I offered the room ta yer husband more an' once an' he turned it down. Ya got a problem with 'at, see him 'bout it. Now if yer done checkin' out the place.."

"No," Lori interrupted him. "I wanted to talk to you about something, too. " She saw the Tylenol bottle on the nightstand and nodded her head towards it. "Is that all you're taking? Tylenol? Hershel said he'd given you some heavy duty painkillers. Are you trying to play tough guy?"

Daryl narrowed his eyes and glared at her. "Ain't none a yer business, but yeah, I'm tryin' to go with the OTC stuff. Seems ta work just 's well, maybe better."

"Really? Do you have to take them more often, though, and do you have to take more than just one or two?" Daryl's stare was making Lori feel uncomfortable. "I mean…I'm just wondering, because I know when I've had surgery there is no way I would have been able to get by with just Tylenol. "

Daryl nodded. "Ah tried ta use the other stuff, don't seem ta work any better."

Lori sat forward and put her hands on her knees. "Daryl. Its driving me crazy and I have to know. Are you going to say anything to Rick about what you think you know? About me and Shane? About Otis?"

Daryl raised his eyebrows. So here it was. The real reason for this nice little social visit from Mrs. Rick Grimes. She wanted to know how much trouble her skinny little ass was in and how much of a threat Daryl was. Obviously, Shane had spoken to her.

Daryl sighed, "Look here. Jezebel. I'll tell ya the same thin' I tol' yer boyfrien'. Rick's gonna figure the Otis thing out himself one a these days, an' if it'll make ya feel better, he prolly already has an' just has decided ta ignore it. I ain't gonna say shit 'bout that.

"Shane is _not _my boy.." Lori was livid.

"Shhhh shhh shhh...I ain't done. "

Now Daryl Dixon was _shushing_ her?

"Ricks a good man, don't deserve the bullshit you an' Shane are pullin', but I ain't gonna stir the pot, I ain't' gonna say shit, but that's only if you an' Shane behave yerselfs once yer moved in 'ere. Any bullshit hanky panky and yer busted. Zat clear?"

Lori glared at Daryl. "I love my husband," she told him, "and I'm trying to make things work with him. I'm pregnant and stressed out enough and I don't need threats from _you_."

Daryl slid off the bed and approached the door. "I ain't threatenin' no one, and if things are as ya say, ya got nothin' ta worry about." He opened the door and motioned to Lori to leave.

She stood up and stopped directly in front of him and said angrily under her breath, "A friendly word of advice, Daryl. You don't want to be getting into my business. You choose to and you might want to be watching your back."

"Ah always do. Now if ya don't mind, ah've got things ta do."

Lori left the room and Daryl shut the door behind her. He sighed. The bullshitometer was in the red zone again. He tried to push Lori and Shane out of his head. He had enough of his own problems to deal with. Hershel was upstairs waiting for him.

He really didn't want to make that trek up to the third floor and subject himself to Hershel's surgical abilities again but what the hell else could he do? The abdominal muscle stitches had been pulled and needed to be repaired. It was his own damned fault for doing all that digging the night before last and then taking the motorcycle out for a joyride. Maggie was going to be in there, too and this time they were going to try a local anesthetic so he'd be awake during the procedure. Daryl hadn't decided yet if that was a good thing or not.

Daryl came out of his room a few moments later and headed up the stairs. As he walked through the great room, he could hear Lori and Rick laughing out on the deck. He started up the stairs and started wondering if Lori knew anything about Shane switching the Tylenol for the morphine. She sure seemed to be interested in how may Tylenol he was taking and why. Maybe he was just being paranoid. Maybe not. She certainly had issued a clear threat as her parting remark to him. Yes, things were going to be interesting once everyone was all moved into the house. He could hardly wait.


	37. Chapter 37

Daryl walked into the war room and saw Glenn sitting at table beneath the bank of monitors. He was still working on one of the computers trying to fix the security cam program. He motioned to Daryl to come over to where he sat, so Daryl slid into the office chair next to him.

"You want somethin' short roun'?" he asked and started chewing on his right thumbnail.

"Sshhhhhh. I just wanted to ask if you'd try to be super courteous and pleasant to Hershel ," Glenn whispered. "Maggie is going to tell him today that she wants to move in here to be with me and I want him in the best mood possible when she does. Can you help me out here?"

Some of the screens above where they sat blinked and suddenly there were nine live feeds showing on the monitors. The five original active feeds had shown the deck and dock area, the interior of the garage where the Humvees were parked, the freezer room, the gate at the top of the driveway and the area behind the garage. Now the feed showed the office on the third floor, two wooded areas, and Daryl's room.

Daryl did a double take. "Shit, that's _my_ room! That ain't right. That jus' _ain't right_."

The angle of the feed suggested that the camera was up in the corner on the back wall because the bedroom door, the bathroom door and the whole room except for the area near the headboard was visible.

Glenn smiled and waggled his eyebrows. "If you're planning on having an orgy or something in there let me know. I can sell tickets. It'll be like pay per view."

Daryl guffawed. "That ain't happen'n unless the Dallas Cowboy cheerleader's bus shows up here an' theys all blind, drunk an' desperate. Looks like I got a camera to disable."

Glenn rubbed his chin. I can cut off the feed for you," he offered.

"Nah, I'd rather get rid a' the camera. Don't want no one bein' able to flip it back on."

"Why?" asked Maggie from the doorway to the war room. "Are you afraid you'd be caught on video jerking off? 'Tonight on Secret Cam – Daryl Dixon engages in a steamy session of self love'. Don't worry yourself; no one wants to watch that."

Daryl turned a bright shade of crimson and pointed to her while looking at Glenn. "She like that all a' time? Master a' the inappropriate?"

"That's mistress of the inappropriate, Mr. Dixon." Maggie corrected from the doorway with a grin.

Glenn smiled and nodded. "You get used to it. I hated it at first. Now I find it kind of charming."

"Charmin'? You're both fuckin' nuts. " Daryl grumbled. "Feel sorry for your kids if you ever have any. Y'all probably tease 'em to death." He stood up and walked toward the room where he could hear Hershel whistling 'Amazing Grace' as he got everything prepared. Maggie followed Daryl into the room and shut the door behind her.

Hershel turned to Daryl and patted the gurney. "Okay, you know the drill, down to the skivvies and get on up here and we'll get started. "

Daryl sighed. "Can't I jus' keep my pants on? They won't be in the way or nothin'."

"Oh come on, Mr. Modest, I want to see those sexy skinny little chicken legs of yours,." teased Maggie.

"_Margaret_!"said Hershel sternly, a horrified look on his face. "That is _not_ appropriate talk for a young lady!"

Daryl pointed to her, "That ain't _nothin_'! Ya shoulda heard what she said to me a couple minutes ago in the room out there," he said accusingly.

"You told me you weren't a tattletale, you _liar_!" Maggie shot back.

Daryl stuck his tongue out at her.

Maggie nodded enthusiastically and waggled her eyebrows.

Daryl blushed again, thankful that Hershel had missed his juvenile display and her sexually suggestive response.

"Are you children about done so we can get started?" Hershel asked in an exasperated tone.

Daryl and Maggie both mumbled "Yes."

"Good. Now Daryl? Get those pants off. _Now_."

Daryl removed his shirt first and then dropped his pants and folded them, placing them on the counter near the sink. Did he really have skinny, chicken legs?

"Ya sure do." Imaginary Merle opined. "Skinny lil' knock kneed chicken legs an' skinny lil' hips. You look like a pointy side down triangular."

Thankfully, Hershel didn't say a word about removing his boxers. If he had, Daryl was ready to argue that he'd been allowed to keep them on last time and he wasn't about to be totally naked in front of Maggie and give her more fodder for her arsenal of inappropriate comments. Daryl jumped up on the gurney as Hershel and Maggie got into their surgical gowns and Hershel donned his mask. Daryl was surprised to find that he was actually a bit nervous. He swung his legs around onto the gurney and tried to relax. Hershel pulled the bandage off his wound and then pressed down on it lightly with his gloved hand. Daryl jumped.

Hershel immediately reprimanded him. "Son, you can't be moving around like that."

"Sorry," Daryl mumbled. He laid back again, closed his eyes and tried to imagine being anywhere but where he was.

"I'm going to inject an anesthetic now, so you'll feel a couple of pricks as I numb the area. Okay?"

"Sure." Daryl grumbled. The sooner this was over the better. A moment later he felt pressure on the area as Hershel cut away the stitches. He heard Hershel sigh and opened his eyes.

Hershel was shaking his head. "This is worse than I thought. Have you had any pain beneath the incision site?"

"No more than usual. Sumthin' goin' on?"

Hershel stared intently at the open wound. "You could say that. Three of the peritoneum stitches are ripped. I'm surprised you haven't had more pain. Maggie, would you get an Ertapenem IV started ? I'm sure I saw a few units of it over with the other IV antibiotics. "

Daryl looked at Hershel and then over at Maggie as she went to a shelf and grabbed a sealed bag of tubing and then after looking around for a moment she grabbed an IV bag.

"What's Ertawhatever?" Daryl asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously at Hershel.

"It s a strong broad spectrum IV antibiotic. Your wound has been open and I don't think that the oral antibiotic is going to be enough to keep this from getting infected, if it isn't already. " Hershel sighed, "You've really got to lay low and rest when we're done here. I won't keep patching you up if you insist on refusing to give yourself time to heal before you're up running around again. Is that clear?"

Daryl looked at the ceiling. "Yes. It's just hard fer me to sit still. So much stuff needs doin' an I get bored easy. Ain't never been one for sittin' 'round. "

"I know so I'm going to make a suggestion to you and before you become all angry and defensive, I want you to hear me out."

Daryl nodded and prepared to get all angry and defensive. If Hershel said he would he was probably right. "'Kay, whatcha got?"

"I think you would benefit from a good sedative. Just something to help you sleep for a couple of days."

"Couple a' _days_?! You're _serious_?" Daryl loudly complained, feeling angry and defensive. Hershel had been right about his reaction. 'Knows me better than I thought.'

Hershel continued, ignoring the outburst. "That way you could heal and get some much needed rest, and I wouldn't have to worry about you gallivanting off into the sunset and pulling your stitches or worse. By rights you should be laid up for two weeks while this heals, but I'm not expecting miracles and I know that trying to convince you to stay down for that long would probably be impossible. "

"You're damned right." Daryl agreed as he stretched his right arm out for Maggie so she could get an IV going.

"All I ask is that you think about it. Now, with this new development here, " he pointed to Daryl's incision, "I'm going to insist that you go under general anesthesia again. If you so much as flinch while I'm working in your abdominal cavity it could cause a world of trouble. "

Daryl hated this, but he said, "Do what you have to do."

Hershel was once again surprised and pleased that Daryl was being cooperative. He had expected a big argument."

Maggie looked at Daryl as he stared at the ceiling. He didn't look like a happy camper. She smiled at him and firmly patted his arm above where she had just secured the IV needle. "Don't worry, Chicken Legs, I'm much better at this than Rick is."

Daryl sighed and nodded.

Hershel went to retrieve some more surgical tools and Maggie bent over and whispered in Daryl's ear, "The boxers are coming off this time."

He turned quickly to look at her with shocked, wide eyes and she nodded, grinning ear to ear and held up her hands about ten inches apart from each other with the index finger pinched to the thumb on each one. She moved them like she was holding a pair of invisible underwear between them, jiggling and tilting them back and forth. Daryl looked like he was going to be sick. "I'm kidding! I just wanted to get a rise out of you," and she laughed quietly enough so her father wouldn't hear.

He wanted to give a smart comeback, something like, 'you mess with mah boxers, girly, you might get a rise alright, but not tha kind you was expecting.' Thank God his brain intercepted the comment before his mouth could get it out.

Maggie put the stethoscope to Daryl's chest and listened for a few seconds while her father opened the surgical tools and put on a fresh pair of gloves . She then prepared a new piece of sponge and poured some ether into a glass beaker. She smiled at Daryl and their eyes met. The strong, firm and confident look on his face was betrayed by those expressive sky blue eyes. They spoke of apprehension and maybe a hint of fear. Maggie again thought what a waste it was for such beautiful and expressive eyes to belong to Daryl Dixon. "Okay, Chicken Legs; inhale and exhale deeply and count backwards from 100. If you know how to."

"Stop callin' me that an' course I know how to. I ain't stupid." He got to ninety two before his eyes fluttered and closed and then he couldn't feel a thing.

* * *

When he opened his eyes, it felt like no time at all had passed. His eyesight was blurry and he looked at the ceiling for a moment and then closed his eyes again. He was still tired.

"Daryl?"

It was Rick's voice. "Hmmm?" he mumbled in answer.

"First of all, Hershel wanted me to tell you that everything went well, but you're to stay on bed rest for the remainder of the day. Now I know you're not feeling too great right now, and that you probably aren't anywhere near totally awake, but I really need to speak with you."

Daryl turned his head lazily to where Rick sat next to him and opened his eyes half way. "Mmmmkay. What….whatcha want?" He yawned.

"First of all, I owe you an apology. I thought you were popping morphine like candy when I found that the Tylenol bottle was full of morphine tablets."

Daryl struggled to try to sit up, then gave up and lay back against the pillow. He closed his eyes. "So you're the one who hid 'em." he said quietly.

"Yes, yes I am. I'm sorry Daryl. I didn't know you weren't aware of what was really in the bottle. "

"So you thought what, that I'd stuck 'em in there? You ever ask yourself jes' why n' fuck I'd do sumthin' like that?" He turned his head and glared at Rick.

"I'm really sorry."

"Yeah, so m' I. Y'all don't know me at all."

"I suppose you're right about that. I've made a huge mistake and I'm sorry. I don't know what else I can say."

Rick was silent for a moment and Daryl was turning things over in his mind. If Rick knew about the Tylenol, why the hell hadn't he taken them with him or told someone else? Hell, he would have died if Maggie hadn't have been there on the deck with him when he stopped breathing. If Rick had taken the damned pills with him or told Maggie about them, that whole fiasco never would have happened.

"Ain't nothin' to say. Whats done 's done. I'm jes' fuckin' lucky Maggie knew to get the Naloxone."

Rick's head jerked up and he stared at Daryl, "What? What about Naloxone?"

Daryl bit his lower lip. Shit. Maggie hadn't told him what happened? Then why was he being so damned apologetic?

"Nothin'. Forget it." Daryl closed his eyes.

"Shit. Shit, _shit , shit_! Oh my God, Daryl, did you OD again?"

Daryl's eyes popped open and he glared at Rick. "_Again_? Whats this 'again' shit?"

"Yesterday when we got here. You were pale as a ghost and you were breathing slow and shallow. When I first saw you I thought you were dead. Your pupils were pinpricks and you were lethargic, you kept falling asleep while I was trying to talk to you. You'd been bleeding from the mouth. You'd OD'd earlier and were coming out of it. I figured you were lucky as hell. I didn't put two and two together until later. You got mad at me when I confronted you about taking so much morphine. After you left I found that the Tylenol was in the morphine bottle and that the aspirin had been switched with the Oxycontin. I hid the bottles. I was afraid Lori would ask a lot of questions if I brought them back to the farm."

Daryl wanted to ask Rick why the hell he couldn't have just taken them and left them in the damned truck, but Shane had been riding in the truck with Rick so that was out. "Wait, the aspirin an' the oxy were switched, too?"

Rick nodded. "So what happened last night?"

"Nothin'," Daryl lied.

Rick sighed, "Fine, I'll just ask Maggie about it."

"Yeah, you do that."

"I will."

"Go 'head."

"Okay."

"Right."

Rick bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something not very nice to the stubborn mule lying in the bed and staring at the ceiling. "Do you think Shane switched the pills?"

Daryl looked at Rick and Rick could see the surprise in his eyes. The blue eyes then narrowed at him and Daryl asked, "Do you?"

"I asked you first." Rick replied.

"Can't help it if ah'm a big fan of Socratic method." Daryl responded.

Rick smiled at that. How on earth could anybody who ever sat and talked to this man think he was stupid?

"Okay." Rick said. "Yes. Yes I do. I hate thinking that, but the opportunity and the means and ability are there. I just need to figure out the motivation. Do you have any thoughts on that?"

Daryl raised his eyebrows at Rick. "Do you?"

Rick sighed and leaned back in the chair he was sitting in. "Yes. I think you know something about Shane. Something he doesn't want anyone to know. A secret. So how am I doing? Am I right, Socrates?"

Daryl smiled. "Prolly. Problem I got, though 'is that I think you already know what these secrets is but ol' Shane don't know that, so he don't want me spillin' the beans."

Rick leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees. He rested his chin on his folded hands. "Has it got to do with Otis? Or him and Lori? The fact he gave Lori herpes? The baby? "

Daryl bit his tongue. Shane gave Lori _herpes_? Hell, Rick had more information than he did.

"So you know all this shit? You _know_ it? T-Dog's dead an' Shane's gunnin' for me to keep me from spillin' 'bout shit you _already know_?" Daryl was furious. "Fuckin' _tell 'im_! Tell 'im you know! _Fuck_, Grimes! You're jes' as guilty as he is for what happened to T-Dog! You bastard! You _fuckin' bastard!_!" Daryl realized he was hollering at Rick and he didn't care.

Rick stood up and pointed at Daryl. "What the _hell _does T-Dog have to do with this?" he yelled.

The door burst open and Maggie and Glenn fell into the room.

"Whats going on in here?" Glenn asked.

Daryl slipped out of the bed and grabbed his clothes. He winced. The incision site had a big bandage over it and it sure as hell was sore.

"Just having a discussion." Rick said to Glenn, raising both hands as if to say, it's all good.

"Discussion, my ass," said Maggie.

"I need to talk to you, too, Maggie." Rick said.

Daryl had slid into his pants and he zipped them and pulled his shirt on over his head. Glenn looked on with wide eyes. Had Daryl just gotten dressed in front of Maggie?

Daryl saw Glenn glaring at him and he waved his hand in Maggie's direction as he addressed Glenn. "S'okay, she's seen it all before anyways."

Glenn's eyes got wider and he jerked his head in Maggie's direction as Daryl slid by him and out the door.

As he was passing Glenn, Maggie threw Daryl a look that said, "I'm going to _kill_ you" and he shrugged. That would teach her for teasing him about taking his boxers and calling him Chicken Legs.

He smiled as he walked through the war room and heard Rick, Glenn and Maggie all talking at the same time and rather loudly. "My work here is done," he said to himself as he entered the hallway. In ten minutes he was entering the kitchen. Daryl was at the sink pouring a glass of water for himself when the back door opened and Carl came running into the house.

"Wow!" Carl exclaimed. "This house is totally cool! Hey, Daryl! We got the logs all moved where they were all over the road so we can drive our own cars here now! Isn't that awesome!?"

Daryl nodded, "It sure is. So ya got all those logs moved? Musta been a lot a' hard work."

"It was! Shane let me use a chainsaw and.."

"Shane let you do _what_?" Lori stood at the dining room entrance to the kitchen.

Shane came in through the back door just then.

"Shane!" yelled Lori.

"Uh oh," said Carl.

"Um,..later." said Daryl as he walked as quickly as he could towards the dining room as Lori entered the kitchen, hands on her hips, glaring at Shane.

Shane was taking his boots off and looked at Lori and then at Carl with a confused, "what did I do" look on his face.

"Honey," Lori said to Carl, "Dale is out front on the deck and I think he's going to take the boat out. Why don't you go with him?"

Carl grinned a huge grin. "Sweet!"

Lori pointed into the dining room, "Just go through there and it opens into the great room. The door to the deck is right there.

Carl waved at Shane, "Bye Shane! Come out swimming when Mom's done yelling at you!"

Shane smiled, "Your mom isn't going to yell at me."

"Yes," Lori said, "she is."

* * *

Daryl slipped into his room. Part of him had wanted to stay and watch the fireworks as Lori prepared to chew Shane a new asshole. Luckily, the smart part of him had hightailed it out of the blasting area. Oh yeah, having the whole group here in this house was going to be a real hoot.

He got out of his clothes again, pulled the quilt back and slid into his bed. He would follow Hershel's instructions for today, anyway. It was the least he could do.

He was almost asleep again when there was a knock on his door. "C'mon in." he said sleepily.

The door opened and Hershel came into the room. "Well look at you, " Hershel said with a smile. "Following doctor's orders. "

"Now I see where your daughter comes by her ability to tease." Daryl mumbled.

Hershel sat on the edge of Daryl's bed and put a hand on Daryl's forehead.

Daryl flinched and Hershel apologized. "Just checking to see how warm you are. You're running a low grade fever. I might be over tomorrow to run another antibiotic IV through you. If I can't make it, Maggie can do it. I guess she's going to be moving in here. In the meantime, keep taking the oral ones. "

Daryl didn't tell him that he hadn't been taking them regularly like he should have been. He made a mental note to himself to try to be better about that.

Daryl was going to ask Hershel if he was okay with Maggie moving into the house, but then he figured it was really none of his business and besides, he was probably the last person on earth that Hershel would want to discuss family matters with.

Hershel looked at Daryl for a moment and Daryl was starting to get uncomfortable. Finally, Hershel sighed. "I need to ask you a question."

Daryl swallowed hard. Good grief, what now? Daryl nodded. "Okay."

"Do you have designs on my daughter, Maggie? I see how the two of you get along and tease each other and it seems to come so easy for both of you. I know I don't know you very well, but from what I've heard, no one really does and I've never seen you interact with any of the others like you do with her. Do I have reason to be concerned? Are you looking to develop a romantic relationship with my daughter?" Hershel cocked his head like an expectant dog awaiting a treat.

"No! What? No, geesh, not at all!" Daryl's words were tripping all over each other as he rushed to get them out of his mouth. "I mean, I like 'er like I would a sister or sumthin', an I think she's feisty an' real nice, but no, not at all like you're suggestin'. Besides, I'm too old for 'er an she's all crazy an' stuff for Glenn."

Hershel nodded, still looking at Daryl intently. "and if she wasn't, would your intentions be any different? "

"No, no sir, no, not at all." Daryl swallowed again. His throat felt so dry and why was he so nervous? "I jes' ain't into all that romance, relationship crap. World 's messed up enough as it is."

Hershel smiled then and patted Daryl's leg. He stood and said, "Son, you're probably the smartest man I've talked to in a long time. And just an FYI; age-wise, men have been with younger women since the dawn of time. Now get some rest and I'll see you tomorrow or the next day."

Daryl nodded. "Thanks for patchin' me up agin an' I'm sorry you had to do it twice."

Hershel turned back to look at Daryl. "For the record, the way those stitches got pulled…what you did..it was right and honorable, but damn, son, you've got to stop hurting yourself. I'm thinking we should wrap you in bubble wrap for a week or two."

Daryl smiled. Yes, it was easy to see where Maggie got the smarty pants part of her personality from.

* * *

Daryl felt like he had just fallen asleep again when he felt someone shaking his right shoulder. He cracked open one eye to see who the offender he needed to kill was. It was Rick. Daryl rolled his eyes. "I ain't got nothin' to say to you right now." Daryl grumbled.

"Look Daryl. I talked to Maggie. I'll never be able to tell you how sorry I am. About T-Dog, about what happened to you. There is no way I can ever make it up to you. I'm so sorry."

Daryl furrowed his brow and scowled at Rick. "What'd she tell you?"

Rick looked at his feet and sighed. "She told me that I was a moron and that Shane is to blame for what happened to T-Dog." Rick looked up at Daryl and their eyes met. "She told me that you almost died early this morning. You stopped breathing." Daryl looked away and his face reddened.

Rick cleared his throat and continued, "Maggie filled me in on a plan she has.."

Daryl smirked. A plan _she_ had?

"..and Shane and everyone else thinks I'm scouting around in the woods a bit. I heard Shane say something a little while ago about stopping in here to see you. I'm going to be in the closet. " Rick paused and rubbed the stubble on his chin. "It isn't that I don't believe any of what Maggie says that Shane has done, I do. I figured out that he switched the pills all on my own. I just want to hear it from his own mouth."

Daryl wanted to laugh. He and Maggie must have been nuts when they were hatching this plan. Rick was going to hide in the closet? What was this, an Inspector Clouseau movie? Instead of laughing, Daryl nodded and Rick backed up and let himself into the closet, closing the door behind him.

Twenty minutes or so went by and Daryl had just fallen asleep again when the door knob slowly turned and his bedroom door quietly opened. Shane slipped into the room and looked around then carefully closed the door behind him.


	38. Chapter 38

**A short chapter...**

Daryl had just fallen asleep again when the door knob slowly turned and his door quietly opened. Shane slipped into the room and carefully closed and locked the door behind him.

He quietly walked over to the bed and looked down at the sleeping man, a look of disgust and disdain on his face. Daryl was on his back, his head turned slightly to his right. This was perfect. Shane looked at the nightstand next to the bed. The bottle of Tylenol was on it and he picked it up. Lori had told him about ten minutes earlier that Daryl was taking the "Tylenol" rather than the morphine and that he had been taking sometimes four at a time. Maggie had told her that Daryl had taken four of them after he'd gotten to his room after Lori had seen him in the kitchen. Maggie had mentioned that she was worried about Daryl's liver because taking that much acetaminophen so often could cause liver function problems.

Shane figured he'd given the morphine "Tylenol" enough time to take effect so that he would have no problem handling Daryl if he became resistant or combative when Shane moved in for his attack. Shane opened the Tylenol bottle. Yes, the morphine tabs were still in there. He reached across Daryl and picked up one of the down pillows on the bed. This was going to be way too easy.

Shane gripped the pillow with both hands and held it directly above Daryl's head and then brought the pillow down over the sleeping man's face.

Daryl had been expecting Shane but he hadn't expected to nod off and to be sleeping when Shane made his move. To say he was surprised and caught off guard would be an understatement. Daryl jerked and started struggling the second the pillow came down on his face and woke him. He pulled at Shane and kicked and tried to pull the pillow off.

Shane climbed up on the bed and lay across the pillow, pushing it down as hard as he could. Daryl's strong arms tried to remove him, his fists pummeled him and his knees shot up, trying to dislodge Shane. He was trying to yell, but the pillow muffled his voice. It sounded to Shane like he was yelling for Rick. Shane continued to hold the pillow down hard, never saying a word, as Daryl squirmed and tried to move his head out from under it. Daryl's hands came up and he tried to reach around Shane's neck, Shane ducked away and Daryl grabbed Shane's shirt in both hands and then tried to push him off. Shane moved more of his weight onto the pillow and held it down with all his might. The struggling beneath Shane started to become weaker and Shane sneered. Almost finished.

Shane heard someone behind him holler and then felt arms around his waist and he was hauled off of Daryl. "_What the hell are you doing_?" It was Rick. How the hell did Rick get into the room? Shane had locked the door. Rick yanked Shane backward and pulled Shane's arms back to restrain him.

Daryl sat up, throwing the pillow to the side and gasped and wheezed as he caught his breath. His face was red and his hair desheveled and he looked incredibly pissed off. "It's about _fuckin' time_, Grimes!" he shouted angrily. He moved towards Rick to help him get Shane under control, but Shane kicked out and his foot connected squarely with Daryl's incision site. Daryl dropped to his knees. When had the fucker put his steel toed boots back on?

Shane lurched forward and pulled away from Rick. Daryl had set him up. He drew his foot back and kicked Daryl again in the same area as hard as he could. Daryl went down on his right side holding his left side and gasping for breath. Rick grabbed Shane again and Shane, being the stronger and heavier of the two, pulled away from Rick. Rick was screaming at Shane and grabbing for him and Shane kicked Daryl again. "Fuckin' redneck trash! Ruin my fucking life, will ya?!" Shane shouted. He kicked Daryl again as Daryl tried unsuccessfully to deflect the blows with his hands.

Daryl felt stitches ripping and something deep beneath his incision tear. He felt blood running over his hands as he held them over the bandage on his wound. His occasionally warped mind threw in a thought that he, even in his pain, found amusing. 'Wow, Hershel's _really_ going to be pissed off at you this time.' He could just see the old man standing there, hands on his hips, a stern look on his face and a pile of bubble wrap and duct tape next to him. 'And you thought I was kidding about wrapping you in bubble wrap.' The corner of Daryl's lip actually turned up in a little half smile.

There was banging on the bedroom door and the door knob rattled.

Rick had managed to pull Shane away from him and Daryl moaned and curled up, pulling his knees in against his chest. It was becoming difficult to breathe.

Shane shook Rick off and leaped back just as Glenn burst through the door with Maggie and Lori behind him. Everyone was shouting and Shane grabbed one of the Blackhawks he saw sitting on Daryl's dresser, pointed it at Rick and shouted, "Y'all just back off now! Rick, Glenn, all of you! Don't come any closer!"

Everyone stopped where they were. "Shane," Rick said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. "Just put the gun down. You know you don't want to hurt anyone. Let's stop this now and sit down and talk." He was holding up his hands in a 'no one is going to hurt you and everything is going to be okay' gesture.

"The time for talking was over a long time ago." Shane snarled. "I'm taking back whats mine. I'm stronger than you and I'm a better leader. You don't have the cajones to make the tough decisions that need to be made and you know it. Now don't move and none of y'all will get hurt..."

Daryl started coughing and Shane glanced down at him and said, "..except you." He grabbed the other Blackhawk off the dresser and kept one pointed in Rick's direction and pointed the other one at where Daryl lay on the floor. He glared at Daryl. "I'm done with you and your trouble making ass. Any last words, white trash? " Shane said to Daryl and thumbed the hammer back.

Daryl looked up at him and looked down the barrel of one of his own Rugers. He lifted his lip in a sneer and narrowed his eyes at Shane. "Yeah. Yer a fuckin' pussy, Walsh. A VD infected, dirty fuckin' pussy."

Rick jumped towards Shane as Shane smiled and pulled the trigger. There was an audible "click" and then Rick and Glenn were both on top of Shane, trying to hold him down while Maggie pulled her belt out of her jeans so Rick could use it to bind Shane's hands. Shane was strong and pushed Glenn off of him and hit Rick in the face, temporarily dazing him. He jumped up and grabbed Daryl's hunting knife off the dresser and in one fluid motion, he whipped it out of its sheath. Shane lunged for Daryl and there was the flash of metal. He was going to kill the bastard if it was the last thing he did. Maggie was just bending over to tend to Daryl and suddenly there was a knife partially imbedded in the back of her left shoulder.

Shane cursed, the knife had been meant for Daryl.

Maggie gasped and then the knife was gone and Glenn was standing in front of Shane, the same knife now buried in Shane's chest.

Lori screamed out Shane's name and tried to run to him .

Rick grabbed her and held her back and shouted, "No!"

Shane looked down with surprise at the knife sticking out of his chest. He coughed and gasped and grabbed the front of Glenn's shirt, pulling him down with him as he fell to his knees and then onto his side. He coughed again and blood bubbled from his mouth and nose. "Shit.." he groaned. Had Glenn just stabbed him? Glenn? He was going to die at the hands of Glenn, the chicken-shit blabbermouth pizza delivery boy? He inhaled deeply and coughed as blood entered his lungs.

Glenn yanked his shirt out of Shane's grip and scrambbled away from him with his hands over his mouth. He looked more surprised about what had happened than Shane did. "I...I just...Maggie.." He didn't know what to say. He stood up and Maggie was suddenly at his side. He pulled her close.

Maggie looked at Shane, a horrified look on her face and then over to Daryl. This couldn't be happening.

Rick crouched down next to Shane and shook his head, "Why Shane, why? What the hell? "

Shane looked beyond Rick to where Lori stood behind him.

Lori moved past Rick, knelt next to Shane and took his hand.

Shane coughed and blood gurgled in his throat and bubbled from his chest. "Carl," he whispered. "_I _saved Carl.' He squeezed Lori's hand and his eyes fell on her. "Always...loved you." His eyes were getting glassy and he moved them to look at Rick and gasped, "I'm.. the bet..better...man...brother. You're ...weak." He exhaled as he whispered his last word to Rick and then the spark of life left his eyes and he was still.

Glenn held Maggie and pressed his hand against her shoulder wound. He turned to Rick and babbled, "I didn't mean to, but he...Maggie...the knife."

Rick nodded in Glenn's direction and gave him a sympathetic look. Rick then looked at Shane's face and then moved his eyes from Shane's face to Lori's. "Are you happy now?" he said to her, his voice angry and stern. "Is this what you wanted?"

Lori shook her head as she cried. "No, no, this is _not _what I wanted." She held Shane's hand to her cheek as tears ran down her face.

Rick looked at his wife as she knelt next to her lover and cried for him.

"Lori?!" he hollered. She didn't answer him. "Lori, look at me!" he ordered. She continued to cry but wouldn't look at Rick. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her to face him then grabbed her by her wrist. "Did you want him? Did you want him instead of me?"

"Well, duh!" Daryl thought and he would have laughed if he hadn't hurt so much.

Lori wouldn't look at Rick and continued to sob. Rick took her by the shoulders and shook her. "Answer me! _Did you want Shane instead of me_?"

Daryl wanted to punch Rick in the face. 'Fuckin' idiot.'

Lori lowered her eyes and continued to cry and finally nodded her head vigorously, "Yes, yes, I wanted him instead of you. He loved me more than you ever did." she wiped the tears from her face. "He let Otis die to save Carl." she sniffed, "you wouldn't have been able to do that. If you had gone with Otis, Otis would have lived and Carl would have died." She touched Shane's face as she cried. "He loved us. He loved Carl. He loved me."

"Why didn't you say so?" Rick yelled. "Why didn't you just say so?"

Lori wiped her eyes and scoffed, "Right, after what you went through to find us? How could I have done that?"

Rick grabbed her and pinned her arms to her side. "You should have told me! Do you think _this_ is a better result?" he motioned to Shane's bleeding body.

"No," she sobbed

"The baby you're carrying. It's Shane's, isn't it? "

Lori sniffed and nodded her head. "Yes. Shane's baby. Our baby. Mine and Shane's. "

Maggie and Glenn were kneeling next to Daryl and after assuring Glenn that her knife wound was not very deep, Maggie asked him to please go and fetch her father. While he did that, she would hurry into the bathroom to get some towels to use as a compress to stop Daryl's bleeding.

Glenn ran past where Lori and Rick were still crouched by Shane.

Lori wiped her eyes and looked into Rick's angry blue gray ones. "What was I supposed to do? I thought you were dead! Shane got us out of Atlanta! He kept us safe!" She sighed. "Our marriage was over before you got shot, or did you forget that? We were going to file papers to get a divorce!" She turned back to Shane and stroked his face with her hand. "Yes. I loved Shane. I stayed with you because I was just trying to do what was right, and I was wrong." She looked back at Rick. "It would have been best for all of us if you'd just stayed dead." she said and she stood up to walk away. She stopped before she passed by where Daryl lay on the ground, holding his wounded side. "I hope you're happy now, you piece of shit," she snapped and landed a hard kick between his legs.

Daryl gasped then moaned and promptly passed out as Lori stalked out of the room. Rick stared after her, mouth agape, hardly believing what he had just seen happen. Had she really just kicked Daryl _there_?

Maggie came out of the bathroom with a damp wash cloth, two dry towels and a bath sheet in her arms. She hadn't seen Lori's parting shot. She knelt down next to Daryl. He was trembling and she shook his shoulder. "Still with us?" she asked softly. He groaned and she patted his cheek and murmured, "Just hang in there, Tiger." She draped the bath sheet over his legs and folded it down at his waist. Daryl was hurt, but it could have been worse. She was relieved that she had taken the bullets out of his Rugers that morning.

Rick was in a daze. This couldn't be happening. He looked around the room, surveying the carnage. Maggie's back was to him as she crouched next to Daryl and the left side of her shirt sported a rip and a large bloody patch. Daryl was on the floor on his back in front of her. A blood soaked dressing was resting next to him and Maggie was pressing a towel against his torn and bleeding wound.

Rick looked down at Shane. Blood still ran in little streams around where the knife was buried to the hilt in his chest and the blood at the corners of his mouth and nose was starting to clot. The blood had run down the sides of his face and drops of blood had left small red trails as they had raced down his neck. Shane's glassy brown eyes stared at him accusingly. It made him incredibly uncomfortable so he reached over and brushed them closed with the fingers on his right hand.

Shane, his very best friend for most of his life was dead and his wife had been in love with him. His wife was carrying Shane's baby. He had suspected all of this, but suspecting meant that he could push it aside and ignore it. Suspecting was much more comfortable than actually knowing. When you suspected that something was amiss, there was the delicious possibility that you could be mistaken. You could be wrong, so you could convince yourself to dismiss your suspicions as paranoid foolishness. When you actually _knew_ that something was amiss, you didn't have the luxury of being able to imagine that everything was fine, because you _knew_ that it wasn't.

Rick was so distracted contemplating the mess that surrounded him and the mess his life had become that he didn't notice when Shane's right hand twitched, and then his left one. He didn't see the glazed eyes he'd closed just moments before blink and then open.


	39. Chapter 39

Hershel stormed into the room behind Glenn, "Maggie!," he called to his daughter, "Are you alright?"

Glenn stopped suddenly and Hershel ran into him. Shane's dead eyes stared at Glenn from his bloody visage and he had planted a hand on the ground and was in the process of sitting up. Glenn's eyes widened and he pointed at the thing that was once Shane and shouted, "Walker! Shane!"

Rick was pulled out of his reverie by Glenn's warning and Maggie turned away from Daryl towards Shane.

Shane was getting to his feet and snarled at Rick, training eyes that were glazed and dead on him. The Shane thing's bloody lips curled back as he bared his teeth and clumsily lunged for Rick. Rick jumped back and the Shane thing took another step towards him.

Maggie was behind Shane and only two feet from the nightstand. She backed up and pulled the drawer open. With shaking hands she scooped out three of the bullets she had hidden in the drawer earlier that morning and quickly and quietly grabbed one of the Rugers from where it had fallen to the floor near where she now stood. She fumbled with the gun as she crouched on the floor and then Daryl's hand was on it, taking it from her.

Daryl was half sitting, half lying on the ground and had pulled himself to where Maggie was struggling with the Blackhawk. He popped the cylinder open and she shoved the bullets into the chambers as the Blackhawk trembled in Daryl's hand.

Rick was yelling and scrambling backward as Shane lunged for him again. Rick lost his balance and fell on his ass and Glenn and Hershel both shouted, Glenn grabbing hold of Hershel as he tried to get to Maggie.

"Get down!" Maggie hollered and then there was a sound like an explosion and the top of the Shane thing's head above the bridge of his nose was gone and a pulpy bloody mess splashed onto the nearby contents and occupants of the room.

The pistol slipped from Daryl's shaking hand onto the carpet. Thank God it was practically a point blank target. Otherwise he wasn't sure if he could have made the head shot. His stomach turned. The heavy smell of blood and gun smoke now permeated the air in the room. It was nauseating.

Maggie stepped over what was left of Shane and made a dash for the bathroom. Hershel rushed after her, calling out to her.

Rick still sat on the ground, now splashed with blood and gore and he, Glenn, and Daryl heard Maggie gagging and vomiting. Everything was quiet for a few seconds, then the toilet flushed.

"Wow," Glenn swallowed and made a face as he stepped over for a closer look at the damage the Ruger had inflicted on Shane's head. "That _is_ pretty disgusting."

Hershel had followed Maggie into the bathroom and now he wrapped his arm around his daughter's waist and asked in a soothing voice if she thought she was done being sick. She nodded and he flipped the toilet seat down and sat her on it. "Let me look at that stab wound on the back of your shoulder," he said as he pulled a towel off the towel bar and handed it to Maggie.

Maggie took it from him and said, "It's not deep and it's really not too bad, Dad. Would you please look at Daryl first? He's in much worse shape than I am."

"No," Hershel said firmly "Daryl can wait. You're my daughter and you come first. Let me take a look at it and if it isn't bad, I'll go check on Daryl, but you let me be the judge of how bad it is, okay? Now get that towel around you and let me take a look." Hershel turned his head and Maggie pulled her shirt off and pulled her bra strap on the left side down. She wrapped the towel around her chest, keeping her shoulders exposed.

"Okay, Dad. I'm ready."

Hershel examined her wound. "Hmmm….is it very painful?" he asked her.

"It felt like I was burned when it happened. Now it just stings" she replied. She sat quietly as her father examined her injury. "Well, Dr. Dad, am I going to live?"

Hershel smiled, "Yes, I'm quite sure of it. You've got a nice puncture in your trapezius muscle. The knife was very sharp, the wound looks almost like a surgical incision, and it isn't very deep. Just a good cleaning and a couple of stitches and it should heal nicely. You're lucky no nerves were sliced."

While Hershel was attending to Maggie, Daryl had pulled himself into a sitting position against the side of his bed. His wound was still bleeding and while it had slowed down, it still hadn't stopped. He held the towel Maggie had given him against his wound and tried to slow his breathing and relax. He knew that the more worked up he was, the faster his heart would beat, then the faster it would force blood through his arteries and veins and the faster he would lose blood. He closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. His hands shook as he held the towel in place and damn, it hurt like hell.

He smiled a little smile. The only distraction from the pain in his side was the pain where Lori had nailed him a good one in the 'nads. He was almost grateful that he had passed out when that happened, otherwise he would have puked all over the place. As far as Daryl was concerned, it was going to be hard enough to get the blood and mess out of the carpets and the room without having to worry about what the hell to use to get puke stains out of Berber carpeting.

"What th' hell? Ya Suzie Homemaker now? Worrying 'bout how ta get stains outta the rug?" Imaginary Merle was disgusted. "Ya shouldn't be feelin' any pain below your waist 'caus I swear baby brother, ya ain't got no balls."

"Wish you were right sometimes, Merle," Daryl mumbled and reflected for just a moment on how lucky women were not to have external body parts that could bring them to their knees and make them wish they were dead when they were struck.

He opened his eyes and Rick and Glenn were both crouched in front of him with worried looks on their faces.

"Are you hallucinating Merle again?" Rick asked him. He sounded worried.

"Nah," Daryl mumbled. "Jes' thinkin' a' him. I know he ain't here."

"I can't believe Lori kicked you 'there'. " Rick said sympathetically.

Glenn cringed. He felt himself shrink a bit just thinking of it. "Ouch. I know you and Shane didn't get along, but why would she do something that mean to you?"

Daryl closed his eyes again. "I deserved it. Payback. Score's even now. "

Rick had a confused look on his face. "Payback?"

Daryl nodded and kept his eyes closed. They were both too close to him and he was starting to feel a bit crowded and claustrophobic. The last thing he wanted to do was panic and get his heartbeat speeding up. "When me an' Shane got into it back at the farm, I kneed 'im pretty hard in the babymakers. Real pussy move, wan't too proud a' it. Tried apologizin' later. He wan't havin' none a' it. Couldn't blame 'im. I'm sure he tol' Lori 'bout it. Now we're even. "

Dale came rushing into the room, eyes wide and holding his hat on his head. "I heard a gunshot while we were out in the boat! Is everyone.." he stopped in mid sentence. Glenn and Rick had turned to look at him and Hershel was just coming out of the bathroom. Dale looked around the room. He took his hat off and scratched his head. "What happened in here? Is that…is that Shane? Is Daryl alright? " He backed up and plopped himself down in the chair by the closet and tried to make sense of the mess in front of him.

Hershel approached Daryl and motioned for Glenn and Rick to move away and give him some room.

Glenn walked over to Dale and started to fill him in on what had happened.

Hershel knelt down next to Daryl and put his hand on the bloody towel that Daryl was holding against his injury. "I've got it, now let me take a look, okay?" Daryl didn't open his eyes but nodded and released his grip on the towel.

Hershel pulled it away from the wound and grimaced. The stitches were ripped and the incision was now an actual bleeding cavern, the edges of skin and fascia previously sewn together now ripped apart and pushed downward , becoming the walls of a wide and deep looking opening. It was bloody and Hershel looked closer and realized that what he thought was fascia tissue down deeper was actually a washcloth that had been folded and pushed down into the wound to try to stop the bleeding. He realized that Maggie must have done that. The wound was still bleeding. He could see a foot shaped bruise appearing and could even make out the boot tread. There were at least three other swollen fresh bruises blooming, indicative of hard, blunt blows. Hershel could hardly believe that someone could be so sadistic.

"Is Maggie okay?" Daryl asked quietly. "She hurt bad?" Hershel looked up at Daryl. He hadn't opened his eyes and now his head leaned back on the top of the bed as he sat with his back against it.

"She's just fine, just a shallow puncture wound. How are you doin' son? "

Daryl kept his eyes closed but smiled a small smile. "Aint gonna be line dancin' anytime soon," he answered, "but you're the doc, you tell me. How'm I doin'?"

Hershel pressed the towel back against Daryl's injured abdomen and sighed. "For starters, I can truthfully tell you that you're the worst patient I've ever had, and that's saying a lot. I once had a colicky constipated donkey. Even he followed directions better than you do. "

Constipated donkey. Daryl laughed and then winced. Fuck, that hurt.

"I need to get in and take a look to properly assess the damages. I know it must hurt a lot, but I need to get you upstairs. Do you think you can stand?"

Daryl lifted his head and opened his eyes. He met Hershel's eyes with his and nodded.

Those damned baby blue eyes were such a waste on a man, Hershel thought. Daryl may have appeared to be calm and his demeanor suggested that he was handling any pain he was having just fine, but his eyes said differently. They said he was having a hell of a time coping with the pain and more worrisome to Hershel, that he was afraid. That made Hershel uncomfortable. In the brief amount of time that he'd been aquainted with Daryl, he'd never known the hunter to be afraid of anything. "I'll have you all fixed up in no time." Hershel told Daryl.

Daryl doubted it and Hershel did, too.

Maggie came out of the bathroom as Rick and Glenn pulled Daryl to his feet. Glenn helped him maneuver his way around Shane and to the door. Fat drops of blood ran races down Daryl's left leg, striping his thigh and calf and collecting at the bottom of his foot before jumping off to stain the carpet and the floors as he slowly made his way to the stairs. He had no idea how he was going to make it up to the third floor and he had to agree with Hershel when the man announced that whoever had designed the layout of Looking Glass Base should have been kicked in the fanny for placing the med room on the third floor.

Daryl did better than Hershel had expected climbing the first flight of stairs, but ended up having to be half dragged up the set of stairs to the third floor. He had just come up two flights of stairs, but he felt like he had climbed Kilimanjaro. He was weak and exhausted. Once he'd stumbled into the med room, he was mortified and humiliated when he didn't even have the strength needed to hop up onto the gurney. Rick and Glenn lifted him up onto it and Daryl closed his eyes and sank down into the pillow on the table.

Hershel went to the shelves to gather supplies and said he needed to wash up so he could examine and assess Daryl's new injuries and stitch him up yet again.

Glenn said he needed to get downstairs to fill Dale in some more and Daryl heard him promise he'd be in to see him later. Oh joy. Someone grasped his upper arm and he opened his eyes. Rick's face was right in front of his and Rick was looking at him with concern in his eyes. Daryl blinked. "Whatcha starin' at? I jest grow a horn outta my head 'r somethin'? "

Rick smiled. "No, nothing like that. I just wanted to thank you for saving my ass. I certainly didn't expect Shane to rise again and if you hadn't shot him when you did..."

Daryl nodded, "'The fuck happened? He wan't bit. It don't make no sense. Why'd he change?"

Rick was still staring at him and it made Daryl extremely uncomfortable. He swallowed hard and looked away from Rick.

"When we die, we turn. We don't need to be bitten. If you get bit, the bite just kills you first and then you turn. We're all infected."

Daryl looked back at Rick. "Whadaya mean, 'we're all infected'? How'd ya come up with that shit?"

"It's true." Rick said quietly. "Jenner told me at the CDC. I didn't know if I believed him or not. I know I do now. The only way to avoid becoming one of them is to make sure the brain is pierced at or right after death."

Daryl was silent and thought for a moment. It made sense. He nodded. "I guess all I can say 'bout that is that it really sucks."

Rick smiled and nodded in agreement. "Thats probably the best assessment of that information that anyone could ever come up with."

Rick stood up. "I've got to go take care of things downstairs. Thanks, Daryl, thanks for having my back."

Having his back? Daryl wasn't thinking about Rick when he took out Shane, and it was Maggie who'd grabbed the gun and the bullets. All he'd done was aim and pull the trigger.

Rick left and Daryl closed his eyes. The pain was getting worse and he tried to push it down, to concentrate on something else.

Hershel was arranging his surgical instruments when Maggie came into the room.

Daryl recognized her light footsteps and opened his eyes. She smiled at him. "Hey Tiger. I'm here to help my dad with you. You're going to be just fine."

'Sure,' Daryl thought. 'Same thing I told Carol about Sophia.'

A new brain fart forced its way into his head. "Welcome to the "Payback's a Bitch" Show! Today's lucky winner is Daryl Dixon! So far today, Daryl's been 'paid back' for kneeing Shane Walsh in the nuts, pissing off Lori Grimes and selfishly taking the best room in the house for himself! (Now Daryl, why did you think the big shoot 'em up, stabbing, bloody mess happened in that room?) For our final 'payback' of the day, the very words Daryl's lying, bullshitting mouth spoke to Carol have now come back to bullshit him! Thanks for playing and remember to watch your back, because we all know (studio audience all shouts) "Payback's a bitch!"

"Fuckin' nuts. Always 'ave been." Imaginary Merle sighed.

Daryl redirected his thoughts to Maggie. "You okay?" He asked.

"Yes, thanks. The cut wasn't very deep. Dad says it needs a couple stitches." Maggie tapped Daryl's right arm..

Daryl nodded. "Let your dad take care a' that afore he starts messin' with me."

"Absolutely not. Your boo boos are much more serious than mine."

Daryl smiled and closed his eyes. Boo boos. This girl was a hoot. "I 'll get up and leave if you don't let your dad do that first."

"You're not going anywhere." Hershel interrupted. "and Maggie, Daryl's right. I got his bleeding stopped so let me put a couple of stitches in your shoulder first. It will only take a minute and we don't know what we'll find or how long we'll be digging around in Daryl."

Daryl cringed. What a horrible way for Hershel to describe what he'd be doing.

Hershel continued. "Set up an IV titre with 3 mls of Midazolam. While that's running, I'll clean out your wound and stitch it up. Then we can tackle Daryl's injuries."

Daryl held his arm out for Maggie and she got an IV started. "You've got great veins," she told him. "but I really think we ought to consider just keeping a port in. At the rate you've been getting injured lately, it would save us a lot of time. Unless, of course, you enjoy being a human pin cushion. If we left a port in, we could just throw you on the bed every time you got hurt and plug you into whatever you needed. Antibiotics, pain meds, whiskey, Midol."

He cocked an eyebrow at her but he hurt too much to want to partake in her playful banter. Daryl was getting tired. He wasn't sure if it was from blood loss or from trying to keep control of himself as he tried to manage the pain. He was starting to lose that battle as the pain got worse. It was like waking up during surgery all over again. He wanted to cry, to scream, hell, he'd do anything, _anything_ to make it stop. Push it down, Daryl. Stop being a pussy. He broke out into a sweat and his body began to tremble as he struggled to stay in control. He clenched his eyes closed and grit his teeth as the pain intensified.

Maggie could tell how badly Daryl was hurting and she brushed a hand across his cheek. She softly spoke into his ear, "I'm going to make it all go away, Tiger," and she injected 2 mls of the Midazolam into the IV port.

The pain started to fade and Daryl felt himself getting drowsy and welcomed the feeling. He was still sweating, but he had stopped shaking, He could feel Maggie's hand on his as she searched to check his pulse and he took hold of it and gave it a small squeeze. He opened his eyes halfway and met her gaze. "Thank you." he whispered and he closed his eyes again. Two minutes later, Maggie injected the last ml of the drug into the IV port. Three minutes later, while Hershel started cleaning his daughter's stab wound, Daryl slipped into a deep and dreamless sleep.

* * *

Rick and Glenn were both sweating and their wet shirts stuck to their skin as they dug. The hole was gradually growing in size and Rick felt like they had been digging forever and had hardly gotten down two feet. He thought of suggesting to Glenn that they take a break for a while and then he thought of Daryl, working through the night and digging a grave for T-Dog all by himself; and after he'd had surgery earlier that day. Rick figured he'd better buck up and keep digging. He smiled as he pushed the shovel into the soft dirt with his foot. Daryl Dixon certainly was one tough, badass mofo.

Glenn unloaded another shovel full of dirt. He glanced over at Rick again. He had done that quite a bit over the last half hour. Apparently, Rick hadn't noticed, because he didn't ask Glenn if anything was wrong or what he was thinking. Glenn didn't want to just come right out and ask Rick, but it looked like he was going to have to if he wanted any answers. Finally, Glenn cleared his throat and asked. "Rick. Something's bothering me."

Rick threw another shovel full of dirt into the pile behind him and looked over at the younger man. "And what is that?" Rick asked.

"Why didn't you tell us that we're all infected? I mean, geesh, don't you think we have a right to know?"

Rick stabbed his shovel into the ground and leaned against it. "Okay. Yes, I do think everyone has a right to know. Now. Before, no. Jenner could have been lying. He obviously wasn't the most stable individual out there. I had never seen anyone who wasn't bitten become a walker. Had you, before today?"

Glenn thought he was starting to understand where Rick was coming from. "No." he said.

"So don't you think that it was in everyone's best interest not to have to worry about that if we couldn't be sure if it was true?"

Well, when Rick put it that way, it made perfect sense. "I guess you're right. I never thought of it that way. Thanks for explaining it. I feel a lot better about it now."

Rick drove the shovel into the ground and started digging again. He smiled over at Glenn. "Well, as long as you feel better. That's the important thing."

"Grimes," Glenn said as he wiped his brow. "You really suck at sarcasm."


	40. Chapter 40

Shane was buried next to T-Dog when Rick and Glenn finally finished digging the hole in the backyard. He was buried quickly and quietly, with Rick making sure that Carl did not get to see Shane's body before the burial had taken place.

Carl had wanted to see what was going on after he and Dale had heard the gunshot while out in the boat on the lake. Once they had gotten back to the dock, Dale had instructed him to stay on the deck under no uncertain terms until he found out what was happening. Carl was torn between wanting to see what had happened and not wanting to see what had happened. Gunshots usually equaled something bad and so far it had been a pretty good day. He really didn't want it to be tainted.

His mother had come storming out onto the deck a few moments later and told him to come with her. As they made their war through the great room to the stairs, Carl realized that something was going on in Daryl's room. He could hear voices in there. Hershel, Glenn and Dale were talking. Carl tried to pull away to take a look and his mother gripped his arm firmly. She gave him a sharp look and simply said, "No." and he stayed at her side and then followed her up to the third floor where she led him into the game room. Lori sat down in one of the big leather theater chairs and then smiled a sad-looking smile at her son. "Let's play a video game." she said.

Something was up. Carl had never known his mother to want to play a video game with him. "Mom," Carl met her eyes. "What happened? What was that gunshot? Where's Dad? Is everyone okay?"

Lori smiled at her son. She leaned forward in the big chair that seemed to swallow her up. Carl noticed how small and fragile she looked sitting there, her hands on her knees, searching his eyes with hers. He noticed she was trembling. He sat down on the arm of the chair and reached over and hugged her. "Whats wrong, Mom? What happened?"

Lori hugged him and stroked his hair with one of her hands. "I hate that you have to grow up in this horrible world, "she whispered to him. "I just hate it. It isn't fair."

Carl hugged his mother harder. "It's okay mom. It will be better, you'll see. We'll be safer here. Here in this house." He pulled back from her then and held her at arm's length. "Now Mom, you need to tell me what happened."

Lori felt a little smile touch her lips. So much like his father, trying to reassure her that everything was going to be okay. "First you need to promise me that you'll sit right here with me. No running off. Agreed?"

Carl jumped up, "Is Dad okay? Mom, is Dad okay?"

"Your Dad is just fine. Now are you going to sit and listen to me or sit here in this room alone and play video games and wait to learn about this later when you're more in control of yourself?"

Carl sat back on the couch arm. "Sorry. Just if anything had happened to Dad..."

"If anything had happened to your father, yelling and jumping up and running out of the room would not be the way to handle it. Especially when I've told you to stay here with me. Okay?"

Carl nodded. "Okay."

Lori took a deep breath and held both of Carl's hands in hers. "Shane is dead." she said, her eyes filling with tears.

"What? No. No! I...I just spent most of the day with him! We cut wood and moved cars and goofed around! He's like...like one of my best friends!" Carl's lower lip trembled and tears started to run down his face. Lori pulled him towards her and held him close and stroked his hair.

"I know, I know. I'm shocked, too, honey."

"Does Dad know?" Carl sniffed.

Lori's expression hardened, but Carl couldn't see that from where he sat. "Yes, your father knows."

"What happened?" Carl asked. "How?"

Before his mother could answer, he heard voices in the hallway and turned his head to listen. Glenn and his father were speaking quietly to each other and coming down the hall. Carl stood up to go greet them, but his mother grabbed his arm, pulling him back and put her finger to her lips. Carl sat back down on the chair arm. After several seconds, his father and Glenn came into view in front of the game room doorway. Daryl was in between them, dressed only in a pair of bloody boxers with a sheet over his shoulders and partially wrapped around him. Glenn and his Dad were gripping Daryl's arms and it looked like they were half dragging Daryl down the hall. Carl could see little rivers of blood running down Daryl's left leg and dripping onto the floor. Daryl stumbled and Rick and Glenn hauled him back up to his feet and continued on by.

Carl looked at his mother. "Did Daryl get shot? Did Shane shoot Daryl?"

"No, no. Of course not! Shane didn't shoot anyone!" Lori sounded offended.

"Mom, you have to tell me what happened.! Dale and I heard a gunshot when we were out in the boat! Did Shane get shot? Tell me!"

"The gun shot was a walker being destroyed," Lori explained truthfully. She decided it was best not to go into detail about who that walker had been before he became a walker. She was still reeling with the information Rick felt compelled to share with her. They were all infected. "Shane was stabbed. He got into a fight and things got out of hand."

Carl was quiet for a minute. "Who did it? Dad's going to punish whoever did it right? It was Daryl, wasn't it? I know Daryl and Shane don't like each other." He sighed and corrected himself. "Didn't like each other and it looks like Daryl got hurt."

Rick poked his head in the door just then. He smiled at Carl and then looked at Lori and addressed her. "Glenn and I will be in the back yard. We're going to take care of Shane." He turned his gaze back to Carl. "Carl, I'm sorry about what happened and I'll talk to you about it later, it's just that right now I have things that need tending to. Do you understand?"

Carl nodded. "Can I see Shane? To, you know, say goodbye?"

Rick walked into the room then and opened his arms. Carl ran into them and his father hugged him. He hugged him back and felt hot tears on his cheeks again.

"Carl, I know you and Shane were close. You know that Shane and I were best friends." Rick cleared his throat and continued. "Shane loved you like a son. I know that. I also know that he would want your memories of him to be of him having fun with you, smiling, being alive and strong. He wouldn't want your last memory of him to be of him looking like he does now. Does that make sense?"

Carl nodded. It actually did.

"Now why don't you and your Mom play a video game or watch a movie. There are all sorts of DVDs on the shelves over there," Rick suggested.

Carl nodded, "A movie sounds like a good idea, I guess. Is Daryl okay? What happened to him?"

Rick looked at Lori and then looked back at Carl. "Hershel's taking care of Daryl. To be honest, I have no idea how he is. Daryl pulled his stitches again and has some new injuries. Hershel is worried."

Carl nodded. "Did Daryl kill Shane?"

Rick raised his eyebrows and looked at Carl. He wasn't expecting such a blunt and straightforward question from his son. "No. Daryl didn't kill Shane. Glenn did."

Carl's eyes got big, "Glenn? Glenn killed Shane? Why would he...?"

"Shane stabbed Maggie and Glenn just lost it. He feels awful about what happened, but he was just reacting to Maggie being hurt." Rick sighed. Carl might as well know the whole story. "Shane was going for Daryl and Maggie was in the way." Rick looked at Lori and narrowed his eyes at her and then looked back at Carl. "And if Daryl dies," he continued, "you can blame Shane for that. Shane attacked Daryl, that's how the whole thing started."

* * *

Hershel looked out over the lake. A lone eagle rode the thermals above the clear blue-green water. Hershel smiled. He hadn't seen a bald eagle for a very long time. The breeze coming off the lake felt good against his face. Next time he made a trip out, he'd bring something to wear swimming.

He had done the best that he could with Daryl's injuries. He was a veterinarian after all, not a specialized surgeon. Despite all he had done, he wasn't optimistic about Daryl's chances of recovery. He was actually quite surprised that the man had endured the surgical procedure.

Hershel had started by removing the wash cloth Maggie had stuffed down into the open incision, and had decided that it had probably kept Daryl from bleeding to death. The blows to his earlier wound had ripped stitches, torn muscles and cracked bones. Two ribs had been smashed and although the original torn arteriole repair had held, Daryl's external iliac artery had been ripped almost in half by the excessive blunt trauma he'd endured and Hershel worked hard to repair it quickly. The area of new traumatic injury being where it was, he was surprised and grateful that the left ureter hadn't been damaged as he had half expected to find it torn in two. Hershel had spent almost two hours removing and repairing crushed muscle, bones and connective tissues and re-attaching small blood vessels.

When he had done all he could for repairs, he had left the incision wound open, packed it with damp sterile gauze and placed a Duoderm border dressing over it. Shane's attack had torn the incision and the wound was deeper and wider and Hershel couldn't stitch it up. To do so would cause the top of the wound to heal and close over the deeper wounded area, possibly causing a dead space that would abscess or become infected. This type of wound needed to heal from the inside out. As the new tissue grew in the wound, it needed to be kept moist and the wound exudate* had to be removed daily as it healed.

Hershel sipped his iced sweet tea. He felt sorry for Daryl and was glad that the man seemed to have a pretty high pain threshold. Changing a packed wound was always painful and hard on the patient, but it was a necessary evil. He'd given Daryl another shot of Epogen to encourage red blood cell growth as there was no one with O negative blood to give this time. He had Daryl on oxygen to help with the hypovolemic shock.

Hershel had struggled with whether or not to keep Daryl sedated for the next few days. He had to make a decision. He wanted Daryl up and around and walking a bit to keep from getting pneumonia and losing muscle tone, but he didn't want him moving around so much that he re-injured himself. Time and time again, Daryl had proven that he couldn't be trusted to just take it easy and let himself heal, so Hershel had made the hard decision to keep the hunter heavily sedated for at least three days. He had started a glucose IV laced with a sedative.

Maggie had been quiet as she had assisted him and he had been surprised and touched when she had quietly asked if she could clean Daryl up after surgery. He had nodded and she had been quiet for a moment and then felt the need to explain herself. "I don't know if he's going to make it this time, Daddy," she'd said. "but while he's here, I want him to be as comfortable as possible and if he..." she'd stopped there. Hershel had patted her on the back but he hadn't told her what his thoughts on the matter were. The man had lost a lot of blood and he was weak and worn out. He had been in an awful lot of pain before Maggie put him to sleep so Hershel could assess his injuries and Hershel was questioning whether Daryl still had the will to live. It was only after he'd come downstairs after finishing up with Daryl that he'd realized what Maggie was doing. She was cleaning Daryl up to either ready him for visitors or for burial.

* * *

Maggie touched Daryl's cheek and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He was way too pale and still. Her father questioned her while he had worked to repair the latest damage Shane had inflicted. He secretly hoped she hadn't let herself get too attached to the hunter because, while he would do all he could, he was afraid it just might not be enough. A man could only handle so much trauma. The road to recovery would be long and painful and Hershel wondered if Daryl would have the strength to endure it.

Maggie was uncertain about Daryl's chances of survival. She had to prepare herself and she couldn't decide if knowing what was more than likely coming was a blessing or a curse. T-Dog and Shane had died without warning. No one had been able to prepare for their unexpected deaths. In this new and cruel world, tragic, unexpected deaths had pretty much become the norm, but was it really any better to know in advance about and prepare for an equally tragic death?

When her dad was finished doing what he could, Maggie decided she would clean the blood off Daryl. He sure as heck wasn't going to be able to do it himself. Not for a while, anyway, she told herself. She ran the warm wet towel around Daryl's left foot and ankle and then up his calf, wiping away the trails made by the blood that had run down his leg from the open wound in his abdomen. Some of it had dried and she had to really rub Daryl's skin to remove the blood. She rinsed the towel in a large basin filled with warm water and watched the clear water change as little red clouds leaked out of the towel and dissipated. She wrung the water out of the hand towel and went to work on getting the blood off Daryl's knee and thigh. The left side of his boxers was soaked with blood and it had bled through onto the sheet draped over him. She looked at Daryl's face again. He had shaved off his scruffy beard yesterday morning, one day before all the shit had gone down with Shane and he had a day's growth now. The premature lines on his forehead and around his eyes that were so noticeable when he scowled or frowned (and he was usually doing one or another) were gone. His skin was smooth and he looked peaceful and much younger. "You're kind of pretty when you're sleeping, Dixon," she told him.

Maggie thought for a moment and then sighed. He'd be so pissed off...but what was she supposed to do? Wash the blood off most of his body, but not there? She reached under the sheet with both hands and grabbed Daryl's boxers by the edge of the legs and started to pull them down. They slipped off his hips easily but were held in place where his butt met the table. She gave them a good tug and pulled them down to the middle of his thighs. The sheet still covered him and she pulled his bloody boxers off. She threw them on the floor. She went to the sink, rinsed a new towel with warm water and grabbed a clean sheet.

The med room door was closed and she was alone with Daryl. "What the heck," she mumbled and she lifted the bloody sheet from him and let it fall to the floor. She tried to reason with herself, 'Mags, it isn't like you've never seen a naked man before.' Yeah, but this was different. Seeing Daryl Dixon naked and in his weakened and vulnerable state seemed so wrong, almost sacrilegious. She sighed. She was just getting the blood off him because he couldn't do it himself. She was doing him a favor. There was a lot of blood that had been covered by his boxers and Maggie worked quickly to remove it. She found herself blushing as she washed the blood from Daryl's left inner thigh. Well, if she'd done this much..she figured...she felt herself blush deeper, her cheeks getting hot as she ran the damp towel through his coarse, curly dark pubic hair; but feeling her invasion of his privacy justified as the towel came back bloody. She rinsed the towel and rubbed it there again until the blood was gone. She grabbed a new towel and soaked it in warm water and then ran it over him carefully; removing the blood that had accumulated beneath his boxers. She could feel herself blushing as she worked to thoroughly remove every bit of blood between Daryl's legs.

He'd be so pissed off if he awoke later with no boxers on. She would have to explain that they were a bloody mess and that he'd taken such care lately to clean himself up and start showering on a regular basis that she just couldn't clean him up and leave the bloody things on him. She raised her eyebrows and thought of how Daryl would be more than pissed off if he woke up now.

Maggie grinned imagining what she'd say if he chose this moment to wake up. "Yeah so ...um..you know what I said about wanting to pat the tiger? Well I just thought I'd really take my life into my own hands and.."

Maggie decided that she'd grab a clean pair of boxer's out of Daryl's room and dress him in those. She washed the last bit of blood off his left hip and then looked Daryl over from head to toe. His body was bruised and scarred, but at least it wasn't bloody any more. She placed a new sheet over him, then bent over and put her mouth near his ear. "You're a tough bastard, Dixon. If anyone can get through this mess, you can. You've got to remember, you're a tiger, not a pussy." She gave his shoulder a squeeze and left the room to fetch a fresh pair of boxers, closing the door behind her.

*wound exudate - by-product of healing, it is a gooey greenish-white substance that will look like pus but isn't - it's a collection of leftover cells and material that is sloughed off as the body builds new tissue. Is that icky or what?


	41. Chapter 41

Rick and Glenn were able to remove the gate from the back side of the chain link fence and set it up near the driveway. They placed another chain link panel where the gate had been and secured it so there were no breaks in the perimeter of the fence.

Hershel and Dale had both been delighted that they hadn't needed to be boosted up and over the fence when it came time to leave.

Maggie wanted to stay and Glenn wanted to stay with her, but she encouraged him to go back to the farm and to pack up his and her things so he could bring them with him the next day and they could arrange their bedroom.

Glenn, Hershel and Rick moved Daryl onto one of the queen sized beds in the living quarters room next to the med room. Hershel wanted Daryl there in order to be close to the med room. The gurney was not comfortable enough to be used as a bed and the proximity of the living quarters room made it easy to wheel an IV pole into it. There were also some comfortable chairs in there. Rick had wheeled an oxygen tank into the room at Hershel's insistence as Hershel had started Daryl on oxygen. Hopefully, Daryl would sleep and not bother the nasal cannula feeding the extra oxygen to his depleted number of red blood cells.

* * *

It was after 8pm when everyone finally left and Maggie locked the door behind them. Rick locked the chain link fence gate behind him and everyone piled into the vehicles to leave. Maggie noticed that Lori had gotten into Daryl's truck with Dale and Glenn. She wondered how Rick and Lori's marriage would fare now that the whole Shane mess was out in the open and Shane was dead. She poured herself a cup of iced sweet tea and sipped on it as she ate a pop tart. Not a very nutritious dinner, she thought to herself.

She checked the doors to make sure that they were locked and headed for the third floor, shutting off the lights behind her as she made her way up the stairs and down the hallways. Maggie took a shower in the bathroom on the third floor closest to the war room. She had snuck into Daryl's bathroom and snatched the bottle of Big Sexy Hair shampoo. She didn't think he'd mind and she had always wanted to try it. As she lathered it up in her hair, she noticed that it was what Daryl's hair smelled like. She liked it. She finished her shower and dried off . She took a moment to appreciate the big fluffy white towel that smelled like fabric softener and was so soft. It sure beat the hard-as-cardboard-from-being-hung-out-on-the-cloth esline towels she was used to. Maggie slipped into a tank undershirt and some boy cut underpants and walked through the war room into the living quarters room.

She checked Daryl's IV and closed the tubing off as it was almost done running through. She pulled the needle from the port and rolled up the tubing, hanging it from the arms of the IV pole and pushed it into the corner of the room.

She grabbed the stethoscope off the little bedside table and used it to listen to Daryl's heart. It was beating slowly but regularly. She sighed with relief. If it had been beating fast, she would have started to worry. He was already experiencing hypovolemic shock, but the oxygen seemed to be helping. She filled a syringe with 15mg of Morphine Sulfate and placed it on the bedside table. She checked the oxygen and saw it was still at 2/liters and then shut off the bedside light. Maggie felt her way around the bed and climbed in on the left side of it and pulled the sheets up over her. She slid over until she was next to Daryl and she pulled the sheets up over his chest, then settled in next to him. An hour had gone by and she was almost asleep when she felt him stir next to her. He groaned and slowly sat up on the edge of the bed. "The fuck am I?" he asked himself quietly.

"You're in the living quarters room." Maggie replied helpfully.

He was quiet for a moment before he said, "S'at so?"

Maggie giggled. "That is so."

Daryl pulled the cannula out of his nose and stood up on shaky legs. "Ain't runnin' off, jes' goin' to the water closet."

Maggie reached over and turned on the reading lamp on the bedside table so he could see where he was going. "Do you need some help?"

"Nah, think I'm okay to go that far." he mumbled. He was back in several minutes and slowly sat himself on the edge of the bed. Maggie heard his breath catch. She reached over to the nightstand and grabbed the syringe with the morphine sulfate in it.

"I know it hurts. I've got something here to help. Let's see that big gorgeous muscle-bound arm of yours."

Daryl "pffft'd" her and reached an arm back in her direction. He hadn't turned to look at her and it appeared to Maggie that he was making a point not to face her direction. She gave him the injection and he reached over and clicked off the bedside lamp.

Maggie heard him fooling with the oxygen cannula and then he rolled onto his right side and was quiet.

Maggie was confused. He hadn't questioned her or said a word to her about being in bed with him. She reached over and grasped his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. He didn't pull away from her. "Goodnight, Tiger." she said cheerfully.

He was silent for a moment and then he quietly asked, "Why you keep doin' this shit? Climbin' inta bed with me an' stuff? Makes me uncomfortable."

Maggie sighed. "I just want to make sure you're okay. I worry about you plus I'm afraid to be alone in this big house at night. If I'm here with you and something comes to get me, I figure it will eat you first."

"Yeah, I probably would taste better 'n you." Daryl said. He rolled over onto his back and was quiet for a minute. "You gotta stop, though. Keep it up an' I might start fallin' in love with you."

They were both silent for a few seconds, then they both started to laugh. Daryl Dixon didn't do 'love'. 'Like' was rare enough for him and they both knew it.

Daryl yawned and could feel himself starting to fall asleep. "You know, I won that bet." he said groggily.

"I know! I can' t wait! A whole week of skinning rodents."

"Thought I might shoot a skunk, special for you." Daryl mumbled.

Maggie giggled.

Daryl fell asleep less than a minute later. He hadn't realized it, but the pain had caused his body to tense up. Maggie had noticed it and she had also noticed when the tension slipped away and his body relaxed next to her. He had rolled onto his back and she was on her right side facing him. His breathing and the rhythmic sound of the oxygen tank feeding the cannula lulled her to sleep. She woke two hours later. She had been dreaming about Glenn. About sitting on the deck with him and feeling safe and relaxed for once. It took her a few seconds to realize where she was and that the left arm wrapped around her shoulder and holding her close against him, his head turned and his chin resting on the top of her head belonged to Daryl Dixon and not to Glenn. It was okay. There was nothing sexual about this at all, she told herself, and lying here pressed up against him made her feel like everything was going to be alright. Daryl's breathing had evened out and she gently put a hand on his incision dressing. It was dry and she sighed with relief. He couldn't afford to lose any more blood.

* * *

Everyone arrived at the house the next morning slightly after 10am. The bed of Daryl's truck was packed with the groups personal belongings, rolled up tents,sleeping bags and a thick old mahogany exterior door with a stained glass window in it that had been scavenged from an abandoned farmhouse found on the way to the Greene farm the night before. There were empty coolers in the back as well to be filled with the bounty from the freezers in the garage and returned with Hershel to the Greene farm. Dale had driven Daryl's truck with Glenn riding shotgun and Hershel in the middle. Rick, Lori, Carl, Andrea and Carol were packed into the Hyundai. Everyone poured out of the vehicles and began to unload the truck. There was excited chatter among them all and Maggie appeared on the back deck to welcome them.

Glenn dropped his bag of clothing and took Maggie in his arms in a bear hug and swung her around in a circle. "Miss me?" he asked planting a kiss square on her mouth. Maggie slapped his shoulder and smiled, "Well of course I missed you! You have to ask?"

Rick stopped next to her. "How's Daryl?"

Maggie pursed her lips. "He's hanging in there." She turned her eyes to her father who stood next to Rick. "I shut down his IV last night and gave him a shot of 15 mgs of morphine sulfate twice during the night and I started a lorazepam IV this morning."

Hershel nodded.

"He got up twice," Maggie added. "Once last night before I gave him the first injection and then again this morning before I got the IV going."

"He handled the pain alright while he was up?" Hershel asked.

Maggie nodded, "He acted like he did, but he didn't give me any trouble at all when I explained that I was going to sedate him again."

"Really?" Hershel was surprised.

"Not at all. He was a really good boy." Maggie smiled.

"Are you sure he only got up once during the night?"

"I'm positive." Maggie answered. She wasn't, of course, going to volunteer that she was positive that Daryl had gotten up only once because she'd been in the bed next to him all night. There had been nothing romantic about it, well, almost nothing she thought, remembering waking with his arm around her.

Everyone entered the house and stowed their personal belongings in their rooms.

It was decided that Carl would have the room that was supposed to be Shane's although there was some speculation that Lori might end up with that room and Carl and Rick would share a room.

Rick and Glenn brought tools into Daryl's room and got to work removing a window and preparing to install the old mahogany door in its place. Carol and Maggie stripped the linens off the bed and Carol put them to soak in the laundry room. The Bissel carpet cleaner was hauled out of the garage with high hopes that the carpet in Daryl's room could be restored to its pre-bloody mess condition. Hershel had brought milk and eggs and put them away in the refrigerator and Dale was going through the containers in it, running moldy contents through the garbage disposal, rinsing containers and putting them in the dishwasher.

* * *

Hershel asked for Maggie's assistance to change Daryl's dressing and she followed her father upstairs.

Hershel checked Daryl's vital signs and made sure he was properly sedated before peeling back the Duoderm dressing on top of the wound packing. He gently pulled the gauze from the open wound and noticed that the wound exudate was thick on it. He irrigated the wound with sterile saline and put a new pair of latex gloves on. Maggie had the new roll of gauze soaking in sterile water and Hershel removed it from the small basin and squeezed the excess water from it. He fed the damp gauze into the wound opening and packed it down inside with a cotton swab.

Daryl moaned and his body twitched.

Hershel froze. Daryl didn't move again and Hershel resumed packing the wound. He put a fresh Duoderm border dressing in place and then turned to Maggie. "The wound bed is starting to heal nicely already, but with the amount of wound exudate being produced, I think we're going to have to pack the thing twice a day instead of once."

Maggie nodded. "I can do that."

Hershel lifted Daryl's wrist to check his pulse. He shook his head. "It still isn't very strong." he said. He turned to Maggie. "Just remember that once he's off the lorazapam IV that you need to give him something for pain a half hour before you repack the dressing. He's going to be hurting enough as it is. For the next several days you should totally sedate him for dressing changes."

"I know Dad. I'll do everything I can to keep him comfortable."

Hershel smiled at his daughter, "I'm sure you will." Maybe Maggie was in denial, but Hershel thought his eldest daughter was developing a crush on Daryl. Due to Daryl's complete disinterest in Maggie, Hershel was just fine with that.

* * *

Carol was throwing the linens from Daryl's room into the washing machine when Maggie came into the laundry room. "Carol, you've been busy as a bee since you got here this morning."

Carol smiled. "It feels good to be useful," she said. She surprised herself. Just a few days ago she hadn't felt like doing anything. There had been no hope, no future. Things were different now. "but I could use a break. Would it be alright for me to go and see Daryl? I mean, is he even up for visitors?"

"Here," Maggie said motioning to two of the chairs at the small table. "lets talk for a moment."

Both of the women sat and Carol waited for Maggie to speak.

"Daryl needed surgery again after his last run-in with Shane." Maggie reached across the table and squeezed Carol's hand. "He's not in the best of shape, he lost a lot of blood and his wound is pretty serious. He's heavily sedated and will be for the next few days. You are more than welcome to go sit with him, but I just want you to know what to expect. He won't be good conversational company."

Carol smiled. "Has he ever been?"

Maggie resisted the urge to say, "Yes, as a matter of fact we've had some great conversations lately."

Maggie lead Carol up to the room Daryl occupied.

Carol was glad she had mentally prepared herself, but she was still overwhelmed by how vulnerable and tired Daryl looked. She pulled the chair near the nightstand up next to the bed and took his right hand in hers.

Maggie smiled at Carol. "I'm going to be fixing up my bedroom. Let me know if you need anything or if anything with him changes."

"I will." said Carol. She paused and said, "I think its wonderful that you and Glenn are involved and starting a life together. Maybe, someday, I'll be so lucky."

Maggie nodded and thanked Carol and left the room.

Carol looked at the hand she held in hers. A small tattoo of a star sat back a bit from his thumb and there was a tiny heart tattooed underneath his wrist. She notice another star a bit further up on his arm and then she examined the well known (by the women in the group anyway) little winged demon that hid underneath his arm. She wondered what they meant. Did they stand for something or were they the result of a night of drunken indulgences? Maybe she'd ask him someday.

She sat quietly for a few minutes, feeling the warmth of his hand in hers. She knew he was asleep and more than likely couldn't hear a word she said, but she was there and he was there; her captive audience, and she had some things she wanted to say to him. She smiled. He probably wouldn't pay any more attention to what she had to say to him if he was wide awake than he could right now. After Sophia had been found, he'd shut down all lines of communication with her. When she had tried to talk to him, he had either run her off or gotten up and stalked off by himself. At first she had thought he was mad at her, but she had eventually realized that he was mad at himself and that he felt some sort of warped responsibility for what had happened to her daughter.

"Hey Daryl." she said as she held his hand firmly in hers. "I wish you'd stop pushing me away. What happened to Sophia was not your fault. You did everything you could to try to find her. I know that and I'm so grateful." She gave his hand a squeeze and sighed. "Guess what? Its my fault that you're here right now. It's my fault that you were injured by one of your own arrows and isn't that what started this whole mess? I'm sorry, Daryl, I'm so sorry. You need to fight. You need to live. You are so important to everyone. Can't you see that? We all need you. I need you." Carol stood then and bent over the bed. She smiled at the sleeping man and pushed the hair on his forehead aside and planted a kiss there. This time he didn't, he couldn't, brush her away and she smiled and took her seat again. When he was better, she would talk to him and she would make him understand just how important he was to everyone and to her.


	42. Chapter 42

Maggie and Glenn were gleefully setting up their room. It had been the room of the teenaged boy with all the guitars and Maggie almost felt bad about taking the fancy sport cars, rock star, horror and action movie posters off the walls, but the room didn't belong to a teenaged boy anymore.

Glenn went through the bureau drawers and found some jeans and cargo pants that were his size and put them aside. There were several band T-shirts, Tool, Foo Fighters, Nirvana, Pearl Jam and others and Glenn smiled a sad smile. Poor kid. He had a great room with a big queen sized bed and a kick ass stereo system. The walls were light blue and the shelves on the wall were filled with painstakingly built model cars and Avengers and horror movie action figures. The Werewolf, Frankenstein, the Mummy and various other diabolical creatures guaranteed to bring nightmares to the uninitiated in the horror realm. The creepiest of the figures were the zombies. Glow in the dark zombies, big zombies, small zombies, elderly people zombies, kid zombies, animal zombies; zombies everywhere. Glenn noticed Maggie standing on the bed, holding a large trash bag and sweeping the zombies and monsters off a shelf and into the bag. "You're throwing those out?" he asked her.

She looked at him wide eyed like he was insane and raised one of her eyebrows. "Well, yeah. Do you think we need reminders of horrible things that we can just go out and see every day? "

Glen shrugged, "No, but we don't see animal walkers and some of those figures are pretty cool looking."

"Cool looking? _Cool looking_? Glenn Rhee, you are one sick bastard, aren't you!" Maggie laughed as she threw an especially gory partially decapitated zombie action figure at him.

It bounced off Glenn's red baseball cap. Glenn grinned and grabbed her around her legs and lifted her off the bed, "Oooo, I love it when you talk dirty to me." He sat her down on the bed and leaned in to kiss her. He felt her smile beneath his lips and then she was kissing him back. He leaned forward and gently pushed her down on the bed as they continued to kiss and she took his bottom lip between her teeth and gently pulled on it.

"You're geddin' fresh," she said, his lip still between her teeth.

He licked her upper lip with his tongue, and whispered in a husky, put on voice, "You love it and you know it."

Maggie started to giggle, still holding Glenn's lip between her teeth. She let go of it and smiled up at him as he smiled down on her. "Was _that_ supposed to turn me on?" she asked.

Glenn wiggled his eyebrows at her. "No," he said, "this is supposed to turn you on," and he started kissing her neck, little kisses starting below her ear and working down, then he was running his tongue along her collarbone. He shifted and moved up so he was laying on top of her on the bed.

"Oh for heaven's sake!" came a disgusted and surprised sounding voice from the bedroom doorway. It was Andrea and she was holding a basket of her clothes. She was passing by on the way to her room. "Can't you kids shut the door?"

"I wanted to," quipped Maggie, "but Glenn has this exhibitionist streak, and well…"

Glenn looked horrified and looked at Andrea like a deer caught in the headlights. Eyes wide and mouth open in a look of surprise, he pointed to Maggie while shaking his head, but he couldn't seem to make any words come out.

Andrea rolled her eyes "Thank you for today's TMI moment." She reached over and shut Glenn's and Maggie's bedroom door. "And if you're going to get loud," Andrea called through the door, "do us all a favor and shut the windows, too."

Glenn slapped Maggie's shoulder. "You're awful!" he exclaimed.

Maggie wrapped her arms around Glenn's neck and in a fake, husky voice said, "You love it and you know it."

They both burst into a fit of giggles.

* * *

Andrea was straightening out the long dresser with the mirror on it in the room that she and Carol were going to share. The room was a big one and held two full sized beds; not as big as queen sized, but plenty big as far as Andrea was concerned. Carol had asked if she could have the tall bureau and Andrea wondered if she'd done that so that Andrea could have the dresser with the mirror and more space on top of it. She had thought Carol was being very sweet. She'd noticed a change in Carol since Daryl had been located and they'd first made the trip out to see the house he'd found. Andrea realized that she had been in a better mood as well since she'd been to the house the first time and it suddenly hit her. The house represented hope and a hint of normalcy. Not that anything would ever be "normal" again; but having a steady supply of electricity, hot water, a warm and comfortable bed and a good supply of food was a lot closer to what used to be normal than any of them had experienced9 for a while. The hope this house represented was a breath of fresh air in a world full of smelly dead despair. She felt it and she knew that Carol did, too. Did the others? She was pretty sure that they did.

Andrea put the basket of laundry down and fell back on her bed. It had a pillow top mattress and three poofy down pillows on it and she closed her eyes. Even the bed in her fancy and expensive condo in Florida hadn't been this comfortable. Or maybe it had and she had been so long without a comfort place to sleep that this bed felt extra fantastic. She closed her eyes and sighed. She was going to enjoy sleeping in this bed tonight….right after a nice long bath. The bathroom across the hall had a huge garden tub in it and there were candles in the bathroom's linen closet. Andrea planned to lock herself in the bathroom, put a Mozart CD in the portable "boom box" she'd found on a shelf in her new bedroom, light some candles and relax in the tub. After sleeping in a tent for months and bathing in cold creeks and ponds (with a very rare shower in Hershel's house, after all, they had to conserve fuel that ran the generator.) taking a bath and sleeping on this heavenly bed were things she was looking forward to with happiness and appreciation. It was all because of Daryl.

Daryl's seeming willingness to share this place with the group he'd made such an effort to separate himself from truly amazed her. She had begun to appreciate him more and to actually want to get to know him better right before he left and had been disappointed by his sudden and unexpected departure. She knew she had misjudged him but now that he'd opened up this house to them, she realized just how badly she had. Not only her, he had been misjudged by everyone.

She'd been totally in awe of the master bedroom suite and she and Carol had both immediately agreed that Daryl deserved it, although it didn't seem to be his style. Andrea smiled to herself. The trophy room on the floor above her, now that room was Daryl Dixon's style; bearskin rugs, taxidermy mounts of bobcats, deer and other critters. She was pretty certain that eventually some of those things would make their way into Daryl's room downstairs and she was actually surprised that some of them hadn't already. A plan took place in her mind. Maybe she could get Carol and Maggie to give her a hand with it.

Andrea knew that Hershel's opinion on Daryl's chances for recovery wasn't very encouraging, but the man had spit in the face of the odds before and come out on top. Andrea couldn't think of anyone else she knew or knew of who could get thrown down a cliff by a horse, climb up out of a ravine twice, once with an arrow stuck in him, drag himself all the way back to the farm, bleeding and tired and then take a bullet, (well to be fair she did only graze him) only to be up and at it a few days later. She had been in Daryl's tent a few days after his near fatal adventure, giving him a book when Hershel had stopped in to check on him. She had heard the old vet warn Daryl that he pushed himself too hard and that one day it might get him killed. Andrea wondered if that day had come. Apparently this time Daryl's predicament wasn't his fault, though. It was Shane's. She dismissed the thought from her mind. Daryl Dixon was tough and stubborn. He was going to get better and before she knew it, he'd be stomping around again, wearing his grumpy face and cussing and yelling about something or other.

Andrea sighed and sat up on the bed. She needed to go through the drawers in the bureau and arrange her clothing and put the clothing already in the drawers into a large trash bag so the group could go through all the clothing in the house and see if there was anything anyone could use.

Carol walked into the room just then. "Hey Roomie, " Andrea said with a smile.

Carol smiled back, "Hey yourself. So, what do you think? Is this great or what?"

Andrea stood up and moved towards the mirrored dresser. "I already love it." She said.

Carol nodded in agreement. She was quiet for a moment as Andrea opened one of the drawers in the dresser. "I sat with Daryl for a while." she said to Andrea.

Andrea started pulling clothing out of the dresser and placing it in a large trash bag. "How is he?"

Carol sighed. "I really don't know. Hershel has him sedated. He thinks the pain would be too much for him to handle at this time and that he needs to rest and heal some. Personally, I think he doesn't want to take the chance that Daryl will jump up and run off like he has before. "

Andrea looked over at Carol. The lawyer in her was screaming 'violation of civil rights!' but the new and improved reality checked Andrea thought it was a damned good idea. "What are your thoughts on that?" she asked Carol. "Do you think it's a good idea?"

Carol smiled, "Honestly? Yes, I think it's a great idea. Hershel said it's just for a few days. I hope if Daryl doesn't behave and take care of himself after the few days that Hershel renews his option. I'd rather see Daryl on his back even for a few weeks than overdoing it and hurting himself even more. I wish he wasn't so stubborn."

Andrea was surprised and even more surprised when she agreed.

Carol opened the bottom drawer in the dresser she had assigned to herself and said, "Well look at this!" There were several folded flannel nightgowns with floral patterns and one with snowflakes on it. "This must have been grannie's room." The women both laughed.

"I'd actually love one of those," said Andrea, "all I need to go with it is a pair of bunny slippers."

Carol held one of the nightgowns up and looked it over. "I think I'd like one, too." Carol smiled. "Speaking of slippers, did you see the ones that Daryl has apparently been kicking around in?"

Andrea smiled. "The Tasmanian devil slippers? God, I almost died when I saw those. I expected something leather or camouflage or from Cabela's but not a cartoon character." Andrea pursed her lips and crinkled her brow in thought, "Then again, they have so much in common. They both have a habit of roaring into a place like a tornado, snarling and spitting and angry and they both massacre the English language. I never thought of it, but Daryl is the human embodiment of Taz. No wonder he likes those slippers."

They both giggled.

Carol folded the nightgown she had been holding and put it on the bed. "I'd like to fix Daryl's room up for him. You know, get it ready for him so when he's able to be back in it, it will be nice for him. "

"No way!" Andrea exclaimed. "I was thinking the same thing! I was thinking of moving a few of the Daryl type things from the trophy room upstairs down into his room to surprise him."

Carol's eyes got wide, "Me, too! I thought the skunk would make a great doorstop. "

Both of the women laughed and decided that once they got themselves established in their room, they would go to work on Daryl's.

* * *

Lori slipped into the living quarters room off the war room and slid into the chair next to Daryl's bed. He was sleeping as she expected he would be. She had seen Carol descend the stairs from the third floor and knew that she had just finished her visit with Daryl. Lori had heard Glenn and Maggie laughing and shrieking from their room and she had seen Hershel out on the deck, sitting in the sun, so she figured Daryl was more than likely alone now. She leaned forward and poked Daryl's shoulder. "Daryl?" The man didn't even flinch. She poked him a bit harder and still got no reaction. She grabbed his shoulder and shook it. "Daryl!" Daryl groaned and inhaled deeply but didn't move. "Wake up, dammit!" Lori hissed as she grasped both of his shoulders and shook him harder. His head lolled slightly forward and back as she shook him, but instead of waking as she expected, Daryl stayed in his drug induced, deep sleep.

She exhaled loudly with disgust, sat back in the chair and took a good look at Daryl. He was pale, despite the supplemental oxygen he was getting and his breathing was slow and deep. His head was slightly elevate and the sheet over him had fallen and folded on itself at his waist, exposing his chest with all its scars. Lori smirked. With his temper, they were probably all the results of bar fights or street fights that he had probably started.

She narrowed her eyes at him. It would be so easy now to finish what Shane had started. To just pick up one of the extra pillows and smother the redneck asshole would be a simple thing to do, and no one would know. No one in the group would be surprised if Daryl succumbed to his injuries. He was totally helpless as he lay there, asleep in that bed, and he wouldn't fight her. He couldn't.

As she sat in the chair and contemplated murder, she suddenly had a revelation. It was like the dark clouds of fury and anger in her mind parted and reason, like a ray of sunshine, broke through. She wanted to kill Daryl Dixon. _Why_, though? What reason did she have to hurt him? What had he ever done to her? Sure, he had mouthed off to her a few times but he'd done that to everybody. He had kept his mouth shut about her and Shane and the Otis business and Shane had pretty much admitted to Rick in his dying moments that he had killed Otis. She herself had admitted to Rick that she loved Shane and that the baby she was carrying was Shane's. Daryl hadn't hurt Shane today; Glenn had killed him. Daryl had only killed the walker and that wasn't _really_ Shane.

Lori had exacted Shane's revenge for Daryl's totally inappropriate shot to Shane's genitals when they had fought at the farm by literally kicking Daryl when he was down, and she had kicked him hard and right where it hurt. Daryl had deserved that, and she was sure that he'd known just why she'd done it.

By all rights, she had no reason to want to harm Daryl now. She sighed. The mess her life was in now was not Daryl's fault. It was her fault and Shane's fault, and Shane was gone and couldn't be held accountable for anything anymore. Lori didn't know if she would ever be able to make things right with Rick again, and she wasn't sure if she even wanted to. She stood up and took one last look at Daryl before she left the room.

* * *

Daryl awoke slowly. He had drifted in a numb darkness, feeling nothing; no pain, no sensations at all. It was pleasant there and he wanted to stay there forever. He could, if he wanted to. The edge of the darkness started to turn gray and he could feel something. Part of his body was experiencing pressure. He was being touched. His mind was still numb and couldn't quite connect with whatever part of his body was being touched with the sensation. The pressure was gone and he started to drift back into the black void when pain started gnawing at the edges of the blissful numbness. He twitched. The pain bit a little harder and his breathing and his heartbeat both responded by becoming a bit faster. The sensation of pain; sharp, stabbing pain in his abdomen tore him from the comfortable numbness of deep sleep. His eyes flew open and he clenched the sheets tightly in both hands as he threw his head back in the pillow and tried to calm his breathing. God, it hurt. He furrowed his brow and closed his eyes again, reaching down with his left hand to find the source of his pain. He felt the barrier dressing and slowly remembered what had happened. He caught his breath and the pain seemed to become more tolerable. In another minute it started to fade and in another three minutes it was just a dull ache. He was awake, but still a little groggy. He slowly sat up on the edge of the bed and waited for a dizzy spell to pass, then grabbed the IV pole and pulled himself up and walked slowly to the bathroom with it. He came out of the bathroom several minutes later and walked over and sat in a chair. Damn, he hated this room. He hated being a damned invalid and he hated feeling so fucking weak. Dixons weren't weak.

"You've always been sorta weak in the head, Darleena." Imaginary Merle piped up.

"Gotta be if I'm hearin' you in my head all the damn time." Daryl said to the empty room. He thought he could hear Imaginary Merle laughing.

* * *

Hershel was walking down the hall on the second floor on his way up to check on Daryl when he heard giggling and laughter coming from behind Maggie and Glenn's closed bedroom door. He stopped outside the door and banged on it loudly. The room behind the door was suddenly quiet and then Hershel heard Glenn say in a high falsetto voice, "Who is it?"

Hershel smiled. "I guess that depends on a few things," he called back through the door, "I could be your best friend or your worst nightmare."

The door opened almost immediately and Maggie stood there, trying to smooth her messy hair with one hand, her face, neck and shoulders flushed. She smiled a huge smile. "Hi Daddy. Did you need me for something?"

Hershel looked past Maggie at where Glenn was sitting on the edge of the bed, the sheets and blankets rumpled in a heap on top of the bed. He looked back at his daughter and shook his head, "Maggie, do you think you kids could hold off with the shenanigans until the old man is out of the house and on his way home?"

Glenn spoke from his seat on the bed. "Oh, no, no sir, we weren't…"

Hershel looked at Glenn, raised his eyebrows and then looked at the messy bed linens on top of the bed. He looked back at Glenn and cocked his head slightly.

Glenn blushed and mumbled "Sorry," and looked at his feet.

Maggie's blush almost matched Glenn's and she grabbed her Dad's arm and pulled him down the hall with her, "Dad, stop! You're embarrassing me!" she hissed.

"Good! Now do you think you could take a minute out of your busy schedule and come upstairs to see our patient with me? "

Maggie nodded, "Of course," and she and Hershel started up the stairs to the third floor.

* * *

Hershel was not too happy to find Daryl sitting in one of the chairs in the room, sound asleep. For a second he considered the T-Dog "slap him across the face good and hard" method of waking the hunter, but decided the risk of Daryl reflexively hauling off and punching him in the face made it a risk not worth taking. "Daryl!" he said rather loudly.

Daryl startled and his eyes flew open. "What?"

Maggie lit into him, "You're not supposed to be up and you're certainly not supposed to be sleeping in that chair! Do I have to tie you to that bed?"

Daryl's brain wasn't fast enough to catch his mouth this time, "Sure, but when you're done havin' your way with me, I get ta tie you to it. Turnabout's fair play."

Maggie thought her father was going to pass out and she blushed and hit Daryl's shoulder.

Daryl could hardly believe what he just said and looked at the floor. He felt his cheeks burning. He was sure that if Hershel was going to be changing his dressing now, that he would make it extra super painful. He wouldn't blame the man if he did. If he'd had a daughter himself and some punk made a smart-ass remark like that, he would kill the fool. Daryl was relieved to learn that the dressing wouldn't be changed until right before Maggie went to bed and then it would be changed again mid-morning.

Daryl got back into the bed and Hershel pointed his finger in Daryl's face. "Now you listen to me and you listen well! You can't be getting out of bed without someone present! You could fall down and hurt yourself even more."

Daryl was pissed off. "So if I need to make a run to the bathroom what m' I supposed to do? Holler for someone to come an' take me? I don't think so."

"Fine," Hershel grumped back, "If that's the way you want to be then I'll have someone in here sitting with you 24-7."

"You're not serious."

"I am _so_ serious! _And _if you start trying to head downstairs or walk around and get into trouble I'll shoot you full of something that will knock you flat on your ass for a week. You need to be still and give yourself some time to heal! The colicky constipated donkey was a joy and a pleasure to work with compared to you! "

Daryl sat back in the bed. He lowered his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry."

Hershel patted Daryl's knee and felt a twinge of guilt for being so snappy to him. "Maggie will set up a schedule so someone will be here at all times. Carol came up to see you and I know everyone is concerned about you so I'm sure they'll be delighted to be able to spend some time with you."

"What, watchin' me sleep?"

"Of course! You're so cute when you're sleeping." Maggie teased.

Daryl pointed to her and looked at Hershel. "Tell 'er ta stop!"

Hershel gave Maggie a straight lipped and firm look and Maggie burst into giggles.

Hershel took a look at Daryl's dressing and looked for redness or swelling around the wound opening. He took Daryl's temperature and Daryl complained about having to hold a thermometer under his tongue until Hershel told him that he'd get the other thermometer out if he didn't behave; the one that didn't go in the mouth. Daryl truly was not a good patient, but Hershel was pleased with how the man had defied the odds. Hershel had half expected the hunter would have died the day before.

Hershel wanted to get a swim in before he headed back to the farm and Maggie said she'd take first watch with Daryl. She asked her father to stop in and let Glenn know where she'd be when he passed her room. Hershel again told Daryl to behave and then left the room. He was looking forward to a dip in the lake. He stopped at the doorway of Maggie and Glenn's room (he still wasn't crazy about the idea of the two of them 'shacking up' but what could he do?) and told Glenn that Maggie was going to be sitting with Daryl for a while.

* * *

Maggie hung a new IV bag and then pulled one of the chairs closer to Daryl's bedside. She leaned forward and slapped the top of his hand. "I can't believe what you said in front of my father!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah, I can't believe it, either." he sighed. "I have this problem, had it since I was a kid. Say things afore I can think. My mouth jus' gets away from me."

Maggie smiled. Based on what she'd seen and heard whenever Daryl was on one of his tirades or pitching a fit about something, that was an understatement.

"Always've had these weird random thoughts poppin' in an' out. Call 'em 'brain farts'."

Maggie giggled.

He sat up a bit and glared at her with those killer blue eyes. "Ain't funny, girl. Honestly think I'm crazy or headed in that direction. Merle talks to me in my head a lot, too."

"That doesn't make you crazy. Not at all. It's probably just a coping mechanism. Did he talk to you in your head before he...um..well before..."

"No. No he didn't. Never thought a' it that way." Daryl looked at Maggie and smiled. "You're pretty insightful, ain't cha?"

Maggie smiled back at him. "It's a gift." They were both quiet for a moment, then Maggie said, "Glenn and I have been moving stuff around in our room downstairs. I think I'm going to like it in there. It's a really cool room."

"Awww, does that mean you won't be sleepin' with me no more?" Daryl said in a purposefully whiny sounding voice.

Maggie giggled. "You bellyached about me being a bed hog last time, anyway."

"Did not," Daryl retorted.

* * *

Glenn stood outside the door of the living quarters room with his eyes wide and his mouth open. He couldn't believe what he'd just heard. Maggie had been sleeping with Daryl? He felt his face begin to redden and he suddenly felt sick to his stomach. Silently, he turned around and walked out of the war room and down the hall.


	43. Chapter 43

Daryl watched Maggie as she talked about her plans to ask her father if he would be willing to part with a few chickens and a trio of goats. The residents of Looking Glass Base could use fresh eggs and milk and she would love to continue caring for some farm animals. Daryl actually preferred goat's milk to cow's milk and he thought her idea was a great one. As he listened to Maggie he started to assess what was going on here and he was totally disgusted with himself. He liked her and that was not good. He didn't like her in a romantic way at all, but they were becoming friends. Daryl didn't do the friend thing. He realized with alarm that he had spoken more to her in the last few days than he had to anyone else for months. She was smart, outspoken and her ability to embarrass him without a hint of maliciousness was almost endearing. And oh my God, he had confided in her about 'brain farts' and Imaginary Merle! Why the hell had he done that?

"'Cause yer a dumb-ass." Imaginary Merle sounded disgusted with him, too.

Daryl had promised himself after T-Dog had died that he wasn't going to let himself get attached to anyone again. Ever. And now he was sitting in bed, listening to a woman who not only had gotten into the habit of routinely _touching_ him, but who was right now this instant running the index finger of her right hand across the top of his right hand. He pulled his hand away from where it lay on the bed next to him and pulled it up onto his chest. How the hell had he gotten to the point where he was allowing her to pet and touch him? Why did he _let_ her? And damn, she'd fucking slept in the same bed next to him twice. He had awakened this morning and when he had shaken off enough sleep he was mortified to find her on her right side facing him and pressed up against him. He had slept on his back and her left arm was thrown over his chest and her head rested on his shoulder. He was equally mortified to find his left arm wrapped around her shoulders and holding her close. His nose had been buried in her hair and he had awakened to the pleasant smell of Big Sexy Hair. The oxygen cannula was on the floor, blowing wasted oxygen into the room. He had pulled himself away from her and made his way into the bathroom and stayed there, thinking of the beatings he had received over the years and the cuts that had scarred his body. He kept himself still and thought of all sorts of disturbing things until he had his body under control again and the raging hard on he had awakened with was no more.

Maggie had stopped talking and was looking at Daryl intently, searching his eyes with hers.

"What?" he asked her, trying to sound at least a little bit grumpy.

Maggie reached over and grabbed his right hand that, up until a few seconds ago, had been under hers.  
"Why did you do that?" She asked and damned if she didn't look a bit hurt.

Daryl decided he'd play dumb. "Do what?"

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him and said, "You know damned well what. Why did you yank your hand out from under mine? Does it really bother you that much to be touched by me? I don't have cooties or anything, you know."

Daryl sighed. "It ain't 'bout cooties er nothin' like that. I just' don' like to be touched. Makes me nervous. Makes me feel uncomf'table. I've told you that before. Y'all know this. Y'all do. Why you keep touchin' me? "

Maggie slouched in her chair. "In this case because it's a gesture of comfort. I'm trying to make you feel better and it makes me feel better. Touch between two people is also very intimate. It helps people bond, friendships to grow."

Daryl snorted. "I call bullshit on that. Touch don't do none a that stuff for me."

Maggie leaned forward and looked deep into Daryl's blue eyes with her greenish gray ones. "I'm sorry, Daryl. I never even thought. Of course you don't like to be touched. You associate it with pain, don't you?"

Daryl was immediately offended and became defensive. "Fuck's sake woman, what is this, the fuckin' Freud Psychology Amateur Hour? Back off an' let it be. I just' don't like bein' touched an' that's enough fuckin' information for everyone."

She was glaring at him and he glared right back and said, "Here, sweetheart, let me make it easy for you. You ready? Here goes," and he cupped his hands around his mouth and said in a loud and deep voice, "Keep your hands to yourself!"

Maggie shook her head, the look on her face a mix of sadness and anger. "Why are you doing this? I've been enjoying getting to know you and I think you're a pretty awesome guy. Correction. I _thought _you were a pretty awesome guy. Why are you suddenly acting like a jerk and pushing me away? "

"'Cause you're makin' me uncomf'table, dammit!"

Maggie jumped up out of her chair and stalked over to the dresser and yanked a syringe off of it.

Daryl watched in silence as she emptied the contents of the syringe into the IV bag and then tossed the used syringe into the trash.

"What, you gonna put me to sleep now 'cause you don't like what I'm sayin'?"

"Yes, then I'm going to harvest your organs and sell them on eBay. Oh wait, end of the world; no more eBay. Change of plans! Shut up Daryl. Just shut up. I'll send someone else up to babysit you. Will that make you happy?"

He didn't answer her, but rolled onto his right side, pulled the sheet up under his chin and closed his eyes. He didn't need to take her shit or anyone's either for that matter. He was an expert at putting people on 'ignore'.

* * *

Maggie had the feeling she had just been dismissed from 'his majesty's' presence and stomped out of the room. When she got out of the war room and into the hall, she stopped and looked back at the doorway. What the hell had just happened in there? She stalked down the hall. She was hungry and the grumpy ass in the living quarters room must be starving. She'd bring him up something to eat when she had calmed down a bit. Maybe she'd make him a pie specifically so that she could hit him the face with it. Hey, it looked pretty funny in all of those old Three Stooges shows.

* * *

Glenn was hanging some of his clothes up in the closet when Maggie came into the bedroom. She threw her duffel bag up onto the bed as Glenn watched in silence. She started pulling clothes out of it and tossing them onto the bed.

Glenn stepped out of the closet and noticed Maggie's face was red and she was biting her bottom lip. She looked angry. Really angry.

"You okay?" he asked her.

She whipped around and faced him, her bathing suit hanging from her left hand. She sighed and reached for him to give him a hug. He let her, but didn't hug her back. She was too upset and flustered to notice the slight. "Daryl's being a complete asshole. Everything was fine, then he got mad at me for touching his stupid hand and basically told me to go away. So I did. Now I need to find someone else to sit with him for a while. I'm going to take a dip in the lake and then eat. Would you like to join me?" She smiled at Glenn. The sting of Daryl's rejection of her company was starting to lessen some. Glenn had always had a way of cheering her up, just by being near her.

"No," he said, "you go on ahead. I'll go up and see Daryl in a couple of minutes and sit with him a bit."

"Fine," Maggie said as she searched her bag for a beach towel. "I started the Midazolam in his new IV bag so that should settle his ass down a bit. Just be warned. He's not in a very good mood."

'Well, neither am I,' Glenn thought.

"Dad said he wanted to go into the water before he left. I'm going to swim with him a bit and then after I eat I'll bring Grumpy something to eat. He must be starving."

"I can do that," Glenn volunteered.

"No...no, that's okay. We sort of had an argument and I think after us both cool off a bit we need to talk about it."

"An argument? You and Daryl? About what?" Glenn seemed really curious about this.

Maggie turned to him and smiled. "Nothing important. He's just a born jackass is all. It's hard for him to change."

Glenn felt his neck and his face getting red. Was Daryl upset because he'd been sleeping with Maggie the nights she had been here with him alone and now that Glenn was there, Daryl was going to lose his little sex toy? Was he mad at Maggie for telling him she was going to be rooming with Glenn now? He'd wait until Maggie went downstairs and out on the deck to go swimming and while she was occupied with that, he would go and ask Daryl a few questions, himself.

* * *

Daryl was sitting on the edge of the bed when Glenn walked in. He had already slipped on his jeans and had used a pair of scissors to stab a new hole into his belt for the buckle as he had lost enough weight so that the belt failed to keep his pants up. He was damned sick and tired of lounging around in his boxers when people were coming in and out of the damned room all the time. Daryl had been trying to put on a sleeveless t-shirt and had tried to feed the IV bag and the tubing through the sleeve opening of the shirt. He hadn't been having much luck and he finally had had enough. He cussed and pulled the IV needle out of the port and threw the bag and tubing on the bedside table. Glenn had made his entrance in time to witness this little temper tantrum.

Daryl stood and pulled the T-shirt on over his head and then noticed Glenn standing in the doorway. He rolled his eyes. "Whadaya want? Your girlfriend send you up here to bawl me out? Tell you I was mean to her?" Daryl ran a hand through his hair. The pain had increased exponentially over the last ten or so minutes and as soon as Glenn got his nosy ass out of the room, Daryl was going to reconnect that damned IV to the port and get that pain medication going through his system before it got to be too much to bear again. Glenn hadn't answered Daryl yet and Daryl looked over at him. He stood in the doorway, staring at him like he was in some sort of trance. "What the hell you lookin' at Chinaman? M' I lookin' green to you or sumthin?" Glenn still didn't say a word but walked into the room and approached Daryl. Daryl raised an eyebrow as the young man stopped in front of him. "Well?" Daryl said, testily. "What the hell do you..." Pain exploded in his head and he staggered backward. Had Glenn just punched him in the face?! He had! Instinctively, Daryl leaped forward and struck back. The force of the blow put Glenn flat on his back on the floor. Daryl grabbed Glenn by the shirt collar with both hands and hauled him to his feet.

Glenn's head was reeling; Daryl packed quite a punch. He saw two Daryl's standing in front of him, shaking him. Both Daryl's left eyes were reddened around them and starting to swell.

"What the fuck? Why'd you fuckin' hit me? I may a hurt your girl's feelins' but shit, China, that don't warrant scrappin' like this."

Glenn tried to shake Daryl off but the man gripped him tighter. "Let go of me!" Glenn demanded. "You're the biggest asshole I know! You don't give a damn who you hurt, you just do whatever the hell you want with no regard to other people or their feelings."

"I can't fuckin' help that I don't like to be aroun' other people!" Daryl yelled. He shoved Glenn away from himself with both hands and Glenn staggered to keep from falling down.

"You are so full of bullshit, Dixon." Glenn's voice trembled with anger and fear. "You've been using Maggie with no regard for her feelings or for mine. You knew how I feel about her and you didn't give a damn. You went after her anyway. You're scum! No, you're worse than scum. You're what scum thinks scum is!"

"Wow," Daryl said smarmily, "That's mature. What the fuck are you talkin' 'bout? I got no designs on Maggie. Fuckin' Hershel asked me if I did and I'll tell you the same thin' I told him, but you're gettin' the abridged version. Here goes, 'Hershel: Daryl, do you have designs on my daughter? Me: NO! The end.' Does that make fuckin' sense to you, China?"

"I heard you," Glenn replied. "First you made that comment yesterday when you were getting dressed that Maggie had 'seen it all' anyway and today I heard Maggie telling you she liked our room and was going to be with me and you said, "so you won't be sleeping with me anymore?', so don't even try to deny it."

Daryl walked backward until the back of his knees ran into the bed and he sat down. He shook his head. "You mean to tell me that we're both gonna be sportin' fuckin' black eyes for nigh onta two weeks 'cause you got the wrong idear 'bout part of a discussion you overheard? Oh ho ho this is rich. Ha ha ha. You fuckin' _moron_!"

Daryl was livid. Stupid ass Glenn.

"I don't think I got the wrong idea about anything." Glenn said miserably. He glared at Daryl and frowned. "Can you honestly tell me that you haven't slept with Maggie?"

Daryl sighed. "Did you ask her 'bout it?"

That was not the answer Glenn was hoping for. "No."

"So you came barging in here and popped me one without talkin' to her first. Go fuckin' get 'er and let's get this thing settled _right now_." Daryl demanded. The pain from his wound was getting worse and now he had a headache on top of it and his left eye was starting to swell shut. He noticed with a bit of guilty satisfaction that Glenn's right one was, too.

"I can't. I think she's swimming."

"I don't give a flyin' fuck what she's doin'. Get 'er an' get 'er back 'ere fuckin' _now_!"

* * *

Maggie was enjoying the water with her father, Andrea, Dale and Carl when Glenn appeared at the end of the dock and asked her if she wouldn't mind coming with him for a few minutes. She called back to the others that she'd be back to rejoin their Marco Polo game and she climbed the dock ladder onto the dock and grabbed her towel. Now that she was closer to Glenn, she noticed his puffy right eye. "What happened? What's wrong with your eye? Are you okay?"

Glenn was embarrassed. He held her arm and led her towards the house and away from the happy conversations the Marco Polo players were engaged in. "Daryl wants to see you."

Maggie snorted. "Did the jerk have a change of heart and decide to apologize?" She made Glenn wait another fifteen minutes while she and the group finished up the Marco Polo game that he had interrupted before she let Glenn lead her up the stairs to the third floor and into the room Daryl occupied. Water dripped off her onto the floor as she walked.

The first thing Maggie noticed when she entered the room was that Daryl was trembling. He sat slouched over on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees and his head in his hands. She felt a pang of sympathy for him even though she was mad at him. He was hurting. A lot. Then she noticed the IV bag and the tubing on the bedside table. Had he pulled it out? When? Why? How long had he been without the pain medication? Daryl looked up at her and she saw his puffy left eye and suddenly it all made sense. Daryl and Glenn had actually been _fighting_! Maggie looked between one and the other. "Okay, what the hell is going on here?" she demanded.

Daryl sighed and motioned to Glenn. "Jackie Chan here thinks we're sleepin' together 'cause he overheard part of a conversation we had earlier today."

Glenn looked at Maggie and nodded. "Have you been sleeping with Daryl?"

"No!" Maggie blurted out, "and yes."

"_What_?" Glenn shouted. "It's either one or the other, dammit!"

"Cool your jets an' let 'er talk." Daryl warned.

"I slept in Daryl's bed with him but it wasn't like you think." She went on to explain to Glenn about how Daryl had OD'd and she'd actually saved his life. She was afraid and worried for him and had insisted on spending the night in his bed. "He was furious with me for staying and we slept as far from each other as possible. He never touched me. He even slept in his jeans. I slept with him last night, too. You know my Dad wasn't sure he'd make it through the night. I would have told you, but I thought something like this would happen. I'm so sorry, Glenn."

Glenn was quiet for a moment. It made sense. "Okay, but what about when Daryl made that crack about how you'd 'seen everything'?'"

Daryl piped up, "My fault. She'd tease that they'd have to remove my boxers every time Hershel'd have to be workin' on me. She ain't seen nothin'. She'd been teasin', callin' me 'chicken legs' n' such. I was just exactin' a bit a payback. Guess it backfired on me."

Maggie looked at Daryl. He was still trembling and was fidgeting now as he sat. She needed to do something for him. "Daryl, I'm going to give you an injection and then restart your IV, okay?"

He looked up at her and nodded. "I'd be much obliged." his voice shook slightly and Maggie decided that he must be feeling a helluva lot of pain in order to be so eager to be put to sleep.

As she moved to the shelf near the refrigerator and set up the injection she heard Glenn apologize to Daryl and she turned to Glenn. "You owe me one of those apologies, too. If you'd just asked me about what you heard I could have explained."

"If you'd told me what had happened to begin with, this never would have even come up." Glenn retorted.

"Y'all just' shut up an' let it die. 'kay?" Daryl sighed.

Maggie swabbed a spot on his upper right arm and injected a dose of morphine sulfate. When she was done, Daryl swung his legs up onto the bed and laid back, sinking his aching head into the pillow. His head hurt thanks to Glenn's cheap shot and the pain radiating from his open wound was close to unbearable. He was sure nothing could make his day any worse. He was wrong.

Maggie smiled at Daryl. She did have a pretty smile and her eyes just lit up when she used it. She and Glenn were a cute couple, he decided. He found it amusing that Glenn had actually been _jealous_ of _him_.

Maggie giggled a small giggle and then got serious and sighed. "Okay...while we're playing true confessions, I guess I need to let you both know this. Daryl, I _have_ 'seen _everything_'. You were a bloody mess yesterday after Shane was done with you and your boxers were soaked with blood. It had run down your leg, too. I cleaned you up. _All _of you. Glenn, don't get mad about this. Daryl was asleep and had no idea and it needed to be done." She looked at Daryl and smiled. "I'm sorry Daryl."

Daryl blushed deeply and closed his eyes tightly. She didn't look sorry. Maggie hadn't only seen him naked, she'd _washed him up _while he was naked. He told himself he'd never be able to even look at Maggie again without feeling completely embarrassed. He was totally and completely mortified.

Glenn saw Daryl's reaction to Maggie's revelation and actually felt sorry for him. The man looked miserable.

Daryl didn't open his eyes, wouldn't open them, while Maggie got his IV going again. He wanted to find a hole, crawl into it, and pull it in after him.

"Woohoo! Farmer's daughter saw you nekkid! Did you see how she giggled afore she tol' ya what she done? She prolly laughed 'er ass off when she was wipin' down your ugly nekkid self." Imaginary Merle was extremely amused.

"You must be starving. I can bring you something to eat if you like before this kicks in all the way." Maggie offered.

Daryl just shook his head. He wondered if anyone had ever died from embarrassment or if he'd be the first. God, couldn't she just go away already?

Maggie grabbed his hand to give it a squeeze and he pulled it away. "Don't," he said quietly. He still didn't open his eyes.

Maggie sighed and turned to Glenn. He smiled at her. It was pretty obvious that what she and Daryl had was more of a brother/sister type of relationship and now, with Maggie's revelation and Daryl's reaction to it, Glenn wondered if that even still existed. Glenn had seen what Daryl had just done. He had tossed up a stone wall between himself and Maggie.

Maggie patted Daryl's calf and said, "see you later, Tiger." She took Glenn's hand and led him towards the door. "Come in swimming with me." she said to him, "the water is beautiful! We can get something to eat after."

Glenn thought that he just might take her up on that.

* * *

Daryl had just drifted off to a safe place where he wasn't in pain and he wasn't embarrassed.

Carol peeked into the room from the doorway. She sighed. It seemed that every time she wanted to see Daryl to talk to him, the man was sleeping. She entered the room and placed a plate of chocolate chip cookies she'd brought up for him on the bedside table and put the glass of milk in one of the refrigerators. She sat in the chair next to him and reached over and brushed the hair from in front of his eyes. She would offer to cut his hair for him if she ever caught him while he was awake.

She leaned in closer and frowned. His left eye was swollen and had started to bruise. What was that all about? Had he gotten into a fight? If so, with who? Daryl did have a bad temper, but surely he wouldn't be crazy enough to be brawling with someone when he was this hurt. Carol took Daryl's right hand in hers and held it. She'd sit with him for a while and maybe he'd wake up and she could talk to him. She could wait. She wasn't going anywhere.


	44. Chapter 44

**WARNING: Rick is an idiot in this chapter. That is all. We now return you to your regularly scheduled program.**

Maggie jumped off the dock into the cool water, splashing Dale, Carl and Andrea who complained loudly about it. "You wimps!" she exclaimed as she kicked her feet in the water, raining water on those around her, "You're in the water! It isn't like you aren't already wet!"

A frenzy of splashing and shrieking ensued with everyone aiming sprays of water at each other and churning up the flat surface of the water. Glenn then cannon-balled everyone, coming down into the water and displacing copious amounts of it onto his friends. This only caused an increase in the shrieks and splashing about.

* * *

Hershel had gotten out of the water a short time ago and was wrapped up in a large towel and sitting at the patio table, sipping on a tall glass of iced sweet tea. He hadn't been swimming in such a long time and it had been so refreshing. He felt like he was in a whole different world here at this house. It was like a little taste of how things had been before the dead rose to walk in search of sustenance by living flesh and blood.

How he had taken those days for granted. They all had, really. One of the few good things to come out of the mess the world had fallen into was the renewed and intensified love of friends and family and the delight taken in simple pleasures. Pleasures like going for a leisurely swim or eating ice cream; running water, hot showers, a safe place to lay your head at night. He watched his daughter playing and laughing and decided that it was a good thing she was moving in here. She would be as safe here as she could be anywhere. His farm had been relatively safe, so far, but this place was armed to the teeth and had a good sturdy chain link fence around the yard to keep walkers from getting too close.

Maggie had asked about bringing a couple of goats and some chickens to the house for eggs and milk and Hershel had agreed to let her have them. He would help build a coop and a shed on the property first so the creatures could be property housed. Hershel decided he would bring Beth and Patricia with him when he came out again. He was sure they would love the place.

* * *

Andrea had just been splashed in the face by Glenn and as she prepared to splash him back she noticed that his right eye was swollen and beginning to bruise. "What happened to your eye?" she asked him.

"I ran into something," Glenn replied quickly.

"Yeah," Maggie was behind Glenn, treading water and had heard this exchange. "Tell her what you ran into."

Glenn threw Maggie a look and said, "I'd rather not."

"Well, you shouldn't have been so silly then." Maggie scolded. She turned to Andrea and smiled and said in a loud whisper. "He ran into Daryl's fist. They're going to have matching shiners. Shhhh...I don't want my Dad to know what happened."

Andrea looked horrified. She glared at Glenn and whispered, "I thought Daryl was lying up there half dead! I guess if he's well enough to hit you in the eye I should be a bit relieved. How the hell did you two get into a fight?"

Maggie giggled. "Glenn accused him of sleeping with me. He is so mad at Glenn now."

Andrea's mouth dropped open. "What?" She narrowed her eyes and glared more intensely at Glenn. She then looked back at Maggie and pointed to Glenn and said, "And you didn't kill him for thinking you'd go along with that? For not trusting you?"

"Well, no…" Maggie smiled again and shrugged.

Glenn splashed Maggie and grumbled, "He's madder at you so shut up. After what you did, I'm betting he'll never speak to you again."

Andrea felt like she'd just stepped into the middle of a soap opera and she was loving it. She gasped at what Glenn had just said and quickly looked from Glenn to Maggie. "What did you do?!" she whispered.

"What are you three whispering about?" Carl asked as he swam towards where the threesome was floating and whispering about forty feet out from the dock.

"Sex stuff," said Glenn.

Glenn's reply had the desired effect. Carl shot them all a look of disgust and turned around and swam back towards the dock.

"So spill!" Andrea whispered to Maggie.

Maggie blushed and she smiled wider. "No…I can't…"

"She washed Daryl up after Shane had kicked the crap out of him yesterday. She took off his boxers and washed all of him up." Glenn announced in a triumphant whisper. "Maggie saw Daryl naked, Maggie saw Daryl naked," he sing-songed at Maggie. Maggie splashed him. Glenn turned back to Andrea. "Daryl is so embarrassed. After she told him about it he wouldn't even look at her. "

"He had blood all over him! It had run down his leg and everything! Hi boxers were soaked with it! I was just doing him a favor!" Maggie whispered trying to explain to Andrea. It wasn't like she groped the guy or anything. Wait; could what she did be considered groping? After all, she did put her hands on...No, she was just trying to remove the blood that had collected there. She was helping, for heaven's sake!

"Hey!" Glenn shouted in surprise as a fluorescent green Frisbee bounced off his head.

"Sorry!" shouted Dale from near the dock and he laughed. He and Carl had been throwing it back and forth and it had gotten away from Dale. Well, that is what Glenn thought until Carl started laughing and gave Dale the 'thumbs up'. "You're right, Dale, you do have great aim!"

Glenn left Andrea and Maggie and swam towards where Dale and Carl were chuckling as they bobbed up and down in the water.

Andrea smiled a wicked smile at Maggie. "I think Daryl looks pretty good without clothing," she whispered.

Maggie's eyes widened and Andrea giggled at the surprised look on her face.

"You've seen Daryl naked? When? Did you two….? Is there something you haven't told us? " Maggie swam up to Andrea so they were right next to each other. "So how was it? Is he killer in the sack? I'll bet he is."

It was Andrea's turn to blush. "No, no, nothing like that! The day before he left the farm I saw him washing up in the creek where it empties into the river. I was looking for good places to fish and I hid when he came down to the beach area. I got quite the eyeful. He's got a glorious body. It's too bad he has all those scars."

Maggie giggled. "I almost think they give him character. Imperfections on a perfect body, you know? He is really touchy about them. He caught me staring at the big one that runs across his chest from his collar-bone once and he went totally ballistic. Does he know you saw him?"

"Heck, no. I was going to try to talk to him the next day. The last time I tried he ran me off. I wasn't going to let him do that again. I was hoping to get to know him better and then see if he'd be interested in me. He's a lot smarter than people give him credit for; he's funny, he's brave, he's tough, he's interesting and he's handsome." She was going to add, "and from what little I saw, he's got a great cock," but she didn't want to offend Maggie. "Even with his constant swearing and temper tantrums; I think I'd still love to pursue a relationship of some sort with him."

Maggie's mouth dropped open again. Andrea had the hots for Daryl? They were about as opposite as night and day! Then again, they were both stubborn, confident with their weapon of choice and independent. Maybe they weren't so different after all. Maggie closed her mouth and smirked. "Are you going to tell him?" She asked and she was surprised at the little twinge she felt. She was even more surprised when she realized that it appeared to be a twinge of jealousy.

"Tell him that I have a crush on him? Not yet. He just needs to work on getting better and doesn't need to be distracted or worried by anything other than that. Maybe when he's completely healed and back to his normal self, I'll approach him and gauge his interest. " She smiled at Maggie. "It would be nice to start something with him like you and Glenn have started but I don't think Daryl will be ready for something like that for a long time. You guys are so cute; but damn, Maggie, you've got to shut the door when you and Glenn are fooling around!"

Maggie laughed.

* * *

Rick watched Carl and the others playing and swimming from the window of his new bedroom on the second floor. He smiled as his son and Glenn ran down the dock and dove into the water in a contest to see who could swim underwater the furthest distance before coming up for air. It was almost surreal. His son and his friends laughing and yelling and playing. How long had it been since they had felt comfortable and relaxed enough to do something like this? Rick sighed. Shane had died yesterday. Shane had tried to kill Daryl and apparently was planning on coming after him next. Shane had been his best friend for most of his life. He was his confidante, the best man at his wedding, the brother he'd never had. Now Shane was gone and the world continued to turn and the sun continued to rise like nothing had happened.

The people Rick led, the ones frolicking in the water, were not mourning Shane, at least not right then. Had violent and sudden death of people you were close to or knew well become such a common occurrence now that everyone had become desensitized to it? It sure seemed that way. Maybe it was a necessary evil. If the survivors had fallen apart and completely gone out of their minds with grief every time they lost someone, they all would have gone crazy by now. Had they adapted to this cruel world by becoming colder, less emotionally invested in those around them? Rick decided that was not the case. If anything, the opposite was true for most of them. When you knew every day when you woke up that that day could be your last, you tended to grab life and squeeze all you could out of it. You held those you loved closer and treasured friendships and appreciated others more. Life was important, death was inevitable for all of them and it was best not to let it ruin your day. It was cold in a way, but the dead were dead and there was nothing else to be done for them (except in some cases to deliver a well aimed shot to the head). The dead didn't care if you mourned for them or not.

Rick knew that Lori was still mourning Shane and probably would be for a long time. Lori. What on earth was he going to do about that situation? She had been right when she had reminded him about what a mess their marriage was before the zombie apocalypse changed the world. She had even presented him with divorce papers. He had been discussing with Shane what a mess his marriage was the very morning he had been shot while on duty. He must have been stupid, he realized, to think that when he found Lori and Carl that she would greet him with open arms. But that is exactly what she had done, and Shane had, too. They all had cried tears of joy at their reunion and Rick's miraculous return from the dead.

If Lori had let him know that she'd fallen in love with Shane, would he have stood back and let Lori and Shane be together? Would he have thumped Shane on the back and congratulated him and then whispered knowingly in Shane's ear, "Try biting her earlobe, it drives her wild,"? Probably not. Despite all the bullshit they had been through, Rick still loved Lori. He had been her first love and she had been his. They shared a history and a child together. He would need to think about this. Lori's baby was Shane's. At least that is what she was saying. That was okay with Rick. He had loved Shane and if this child was Shane's he would do all he could to be a good father to the child. After all, hadn't Shane done the same for Carl when he thought Rick was dead?

Lori had told him that it would have been better for everyone if he had died. He wasn't sure he could forgive her for that, at least not yet. He decided that the best course of action at this time was to be courteous and civil, but not to pursue Lori in any way. Maybe after she'd grieved for Shane and had time to think, she would come to him and they could at least talk about their future or lack thereof.

Rick moved away from the window and sighed. He was tired, but the lake looked so inviting and it would be nice to get away from his thoughts and have some mindless fun for a little while. He grabbed one of the bags that held his clothes and started digging through it for a pair of shorts. He was going swimming.

* * *

Carol had almost fallen asleep sitting in the chair next to Daryl's bed when she felt his hand twitch in hers. She opened her eyes and leaned forward towards him. "Daryl?"

Daryl groaned and moved his head slowly to the left and then to the right. He inhaled and exhaled deeply and Carol squeezed his hand. His eyelids fluttered and then he was looking at her with drowsy eyes.

Carol smiled. "Well, hello," she said quietly.

Daryl blinked and pulled his hand out of Carol's and placed it tight against his chest. "Y'all gotta stop touchin' me," he mumbled. He yawned and his eyes closed again. "I fuckin' hate it."

"We only do it because we care." Carol told him.

He opened his eyes and narrowed them at her. "If y'all cared y'all'd respect my wishes and stop fuckin' puttin' your hands all over me," he grumbled.

Carol smiled. "It looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed and is a little grumpy."

A little grumpy? He felt like shit, his privacy had been violated on a number of levels and now he was being chided by Carol. As far as he was concerned he had a right to be the grumpiest bastard in the whole state of Georgia. Daryl cocked an eyebrow at her. "Whatcha doin' in here anyways? Your turn for babysittin' duty? Hope theys payin' you well." He yawned again and then took a deep breath and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He slowly swung his legs over so they were hanging off the side of the bed.

Daryl's apparent plan to leave his bed alarmed Carol and she let Daryl know that. "What are you doing? Where are you going?" she asked excitedly. "Aren't you supposed to stay in bed?"

"One -Gettin' up. Two - To the bathroom. Three -Yes, 'cept when I need to use the bathroom. Thems the answers to your three questions. You ain't allowed no more. " He stood up and grabbed the IV pole.

Carol stood up and put one hand on the pole and the other one on the small of Daryl's back. "Here, let me help you," she said.

Daryl jumped and pulled away from her. Her voice was kind, but all Daryl heard was condescension and dammit, he had just told her not to touch him. He couldn't help it. He exploded. "I don't need an' I don't want your damned help! I ain't a fuckin' invalid! Damn, woman, stop touchin' me an jes' let me be!"

Carol stepped back and held up her hands, "Okay, okay. I'm sorry. I was just trying to help." She sat back down in the chair and watched Daryl as he shuffled towards the lavatory. She started worrying when he hadn't come out after almost ten minutes and she was going to go and call to him through the door, but she thought better of it. He was already riled up enough as it was. She heard water running and then it sounded like he was brushing his teeth.

He emerged a few minutes later and looked at her. "You still here?" he snapped as he walked slowly back to the bed.

Carol smiled and nodded.

Daryl sat back down on the edge of the bed for a minute and closed his eyes. His head ached and the dull ache in his left side was starting to throb again. He opened his eyes, swung his legs up onto the bed and settled back into the pillow behind his head.

Carol was quiet for a moment, like she was expecting him to say something. He had nothing to say to her.

"Daryl, we need to talk."

He looked at her and she felt like those blue eyes of his were looking right through her like she wasn't even there.

"No. " he said. "No, we don't."

"Yes, Daryl. We do. What happened to Sophia wasn't your fault. "

"I don't wanna talk about that."

"Well we need to because for some reason you have this belief that somehow you're responsible for what happened to my girl. You're not. You did everything you could for her. For me. "

Daryl looked away from Carol. "If I'd done all I could, I'd a found 'er," he said quietly.

"No, that isn't true. Otis put her in the barn before he died. She probably was bitten shortly after Rick told her to stay put. You probably hadn't even started looking for her and it was already too late. You've got to let this go, Daryl."

Daryl turned and met her eyes with his again.

Carol felt a lump rise in her throat as she looked into his eyes. He could hold his face so steady, not allowing an inkling of emotion to show through on it. She had rarely seen him smile and on the rare occasions that he did, it was barely a smile, just a slight upturning of the corners of his mouth. It would only last seconds and then it would be gone. She hadn't seen him smile in what seemed like ages. His face never betrayed his feelings unless he was angry but those eyes of his, those sky blue eyes always did.

They were showing her that he wouldn't let go of it. His sadness was so deep, and she wondered if it might not even be on par with her own.

He swallowed and spoke, "I can't let it go. Not yet." He looked away from her again. "I don't blame you if you hate me. I would if I was you. I made a lot a grand statements 'bout findin' your girl and I was wrong. So wrong. I'm a fuckin' tracker. It's what I do and I couldn't even track your girl. I fuckin' failed you. I'll take that to my grave."

"Stop it!" Carol said sharply and she frowned when she saw him flinch at her outburst. She sighed and softly continued. "Daryl Dixon you need to stop that right now. You were right when you told me I should have kept an eye on Sophia. You were right …"

"Carol." Daryl interrupted her. "I was mad when I said that an' it weren't true. Please. I just can't deal with this right now. I know you wanna talk about it, but I can't. Not now. Not yet. Please, jes' let me be. "

Carol felt her eyes tearing up. "I'm just trying to help you." She said quietly.

"I know you are," he said softly," but you're killin' me. Maybe it'll change.. I dunno, but now…ever' time I see you an' you're always lookin' so sad…it jes' reminds me again and again that I failed. I'm fuckin' worthless. I failed at the only thing I've ever been really good at an' you're the one's had to suffer for it."

"And you're not?" Carol asked.

"Don't matter what I'm feelin'. Wa'nt my little girl." He paused for a moment and then sighed. "If you wanna stay an sit there, stay; but I'm gonna try an' go back to sleep an' this conversation 's over."

Carol sighed. "But Daryl…"

"Over." he said firmly as he adjusted the oxygen cannula and then pulled the sheet up until it rested just under his nose.

Carol sat back in the chair. No one could say that Daryl Dixon was an unfeeling bastard, but he sure was a stubborn one.


	45. Chapter 45

When Hershel entered the room that had temporarily been allocated to Daryl, Carol was still sitting next to him. Daryl was sleeping on his right side and had managed to somehow take the pillow out from under his head and was hugging it tightly to his chest. Hershel smiled at Carol and motioned to Daryl. "Has he been awake at all since you've been in here?" he asked.

"Yes, he has. He was awake for about half an hour." She smiled and added, "He wasn't very pleasant."

"Is he ever?" Hershel scoffed as he checked the IV bag. It would be done running through in another hour and then he'd have Maggie hang one with the broad spectrum antibiotic in it. He looked over at Daryl and made his way around Carol to the head of the bed. He grasped Daryl's left shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "Daryl?" Daryl didn't respond at all and Hershel shook his shoulder firmly. "Daryl?" Daryl still didn't respond and Hershel let go of his shoulder. He smiled. "Excellent.".

Carol looked worried and a bit confused. "Is he okay?"

Hershel nodded. "He's fine. If I figured the dosage correctly, the level of the sedation drug he's getting through the IV should be just about at peak in his system right now. I just wanted to make sure he was totally sedated before I change his dressing. Packing and unpacking open wound dressings is extremely painful and stressful for the patient. I don't want him waking up in the middle of the procedure. It's part of the reason I want to keep him sedated." Hershel shook his head and bent down to look closer at Daryl's face. He sighed. "I set up a dosage schedule so that he'd wake up a few times each day for a half hour or a bit more and then go back to sleep before the pain got to be too much. I warned him that if he didn't stay put and behave during those times that I'd dope him up good with something that would knock him out for days. " He ran his fingers lightly under Daryl's left eye where it was swollen and turning purple. "I guess he hasn't given me much choice in the matter."

"Doesn't he need to eat, though? He's lost weight over the last couple of months. I mean, I know we all have, but he seems to have lost more. I hadn't realized how much until I saw him without his shirt on. I can see his ribs…" Carol bit her lower lip and sadly added, "I can even see which ones are broken."

Hershel smiled at Carol. "They'll heal. I've repositioned them as well as I can and he's not in any danger of them puncturing any organs. As far as food is concerned, he's getting glucose in the IV and it will only be for a couple of days. It won't be so long that a stomach tube is necessary, but if he is still getting into fights and raising hell when he's supposed to be taking it easy and healing, I just might go the total sedation - feeding tube route." Hershel rubbed his chin. "Hmm.." he said almost to himself. "I should have threatened him with that before...anyway, it's imperative that Daryl lay low and let himself heal. As you can see, " Hershel pointed to Daryl's soon to be black eye, "he has trouble doing that."

"I don't know," Carol said and there was doubt in her voice, "I was all for sedation when I thought about it earlier, but now it seems sort of heavy handed to me."

Hershel sighed and pulled a chair from the wall over next to Carol and sat down. He leaned forward and took her hand. He looked into her eyes and said, "Carol, I've had to operate on Daryl _three_ times in less than a week; twice because he wouldn't follow Doctor's orders. He was a mess inside yesterday. I'll be honest with you. I expected to lose him half way into the procedure to hypovolemic shock. If this place hadn't been equipped with oxygen tanks and the proper equipment to administer oxygen I'm sure he wouldn't be with us right now. He was hardly breathing and his heart was racing due to blood loss. When blood pressure drops due to blood loss, the heart beats faster to try to raise it. Then when he made it through the surgery, I didn't think he'd make it through the night. He's lost a lot of blood and his body needs time to replenish what he's lost and his wounds need time to heal." He patted Carol's hand. "You with me so far on this?" He asked her not unkindly.

Carol nodded.

Hershel continued. " Now we both know that Daryl's proven time and again that he can't be trusted to keep still. I was troubled by his impromptu motorcycle ride after his first surgery , and now it appears he was involved in a very recent altercation that won him a black eye. The damage caused by Shane yesterday was partially his fault as well. From what I've heard, he was intentionally baiting Shane. Do you understand now, Carol why I feel that total sedation is best for Daryl? It will be easier on him, too. He won't be bored and tempted to wander off and get in trouble and when he wakes up it will feel to him like no time has passed. The biggest danger to Daryl's health now as far as I can see is his own behavior. Now, unless you want to volunteer to sit on him and hold him down every time he's awake, I think sedation is the way to go."

Carol smiled and nodded to Hershel . "You're right." She said. She looked over at Daryl and placed a hand on one of his arms that encircled the pillow. "He really is a lousy patient, isn't he?"

Hershel chuckled. "He sure is."

* * *

Carol left so Hershel could tend to Daryl after she had inquired to see if he needed help and he had assured her he did not. Hershel rummaged around in the med room until he found everything he'd need and was in the process of preparing the sterile gauze when Maggie entered the room.

"Carol said you were going to be changing Daryl's dressing so I figured I'd see if you'd like some help. I thought you were going to have me do it later this evening. What made you change your mind?"

"I decided I'd like to take another look at the wound myself before I left. If the packing is as messy as it was the last time we changed it, we might need to start changing it three times a day." He grasped Maggie's arm and turned her around so he could look at her shoulder and pulled her tank top strap aside. "I had reservations about you going in the water with those stitches."

"Oh, Dad, I had taped it well before I got in the water and I had Glenn swab it off with a couple of alcohol wipes when we were done swimming. I'm sure it will be just fine."

Hershel mussed her hair with one hand and smiled. "You take care of that. If you let it get infected, I will be extremely disappointed with you."

Maggie sighed. Disappointing her father was the very worst thing she could do and he knew it and wasn't afraid to use it against her. "I'll make sure to keep it clean and I'm sure it will heal up quickly." She told him.

Hershel patted her shoulder. "Very good. I'm glad you're here. Carol offered to help, but sometimes it's easier to do something yourself than to try to give instructions to someone who doesn't know a procedure." He turned away from his daughter and moved toward the shelf where the gauze was emmersed in a small basin. "I've got the gauze soaking and I'll grab another pair of gloves. Could you move Daryl onto his back?"

Maggie nodded, "Sure."

"Thanks, dear."

Maggie went to Daryl's bedside and smiled. "Awww, " she crooned, "Doesn't my rough and tough tiger look cute with both arms wrapped around a big fluffy pillow!"

"For heaven's sake, Maggie," her father griped, "do you have to tease the man even when he's sleeping?"

"Sorry, Dad. I can't help it. He's just so... teasable." She gently tried to extract the pillow from Daryl's grip and realized he had an iron clad hold on it. She ended up having to pull one of his arms off of it in order to release enough of it to be able to pull it away from him. She half expected him to wake up during her battle with him over the pillow but he didn't. She pushed him over onto his back and readjusted the oxygen cannula, then took a peek under one of his eyelids. A glassy blue eye stared unseeing at her. She let his eye close and reached over to the bedside table and pulled a pair of scissors out of the drawer. She took a deep breath and positioned the scissors at the hem Daryl's T-shirt just below his navel and cut a line up to the stitching around the neck. This was a lot easier than wrestling the shirt off him would be. She opened the ruined shirt so her father would have access to the injury he would be working on.

"The sedation meds seem to be right on target." She called over to her father. "It's like he's in a drug induced coma."

"That's what I'm aiming for. I've decided that his behavior has been too risky to allow him to be awake even for short periods of time. He'll be sleeping like this for the next couple of days."

"Really? A drug induced coma for real? Wow, Dad. Do you really think that's necessary?" She went to wash her hands in the sink as she spoke.

Hershel put on a fresh pair of latex gloves and sighed. "Yes, I do think its necessary or I wouldn't do it and I just had this same conversation with Carol. I really don't feel like having it again."

"Okay," Maggie said as she positioned herself on Daryl's right side and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "You're the doctor; you know whats best."

"Thank you for your vote of confidence." Hershel grumbled as he pulled the tape off Daryl's top dressing. He used surgical tweezers to remove the packing and swabbed and rinsed the interior of the wound. Maggie made a face as he held the packing he had removed from the wound up in front of her face. "Just look at all that exudate!" he exclaimed.

Maggie looked at the thick coating of slimy greenish goo clinging to the gauze and felt her stomach turn. She made a face and crinkled her nose. "Dad, that is so gross."

Hershel chuckled. "You wouldn't have made a very good nurse," he said.

"Which is exactly why I didn't go to school for nursing!" Maggie exclaimed .

Hershel changed his gloves and packed the wound with wet gauze and taped a foam dressing on top of it.

"What do you think caused this?" Maggie asked him. She was running her gloved finger along the large scar that ran from Daryl's collarbone down across the top of his chest.

Hershel sighed. "You know, when you were small child, you had a habit of asking inappropriate questions. Some things don't change, I guess." He took off his gloves and threw them in the garbage and grasped Daryl's wrist, checking his pulse.

Maggie looked at her father and pouted. "What is inappropriate about that question? "

Hershel raised his eyebrows. "Have you asked "your tiger" about it? And that's another thing...I don't know why you call him that and I don't want to know, but Maggie, if you're going to be in a relationship with the Rhee boy, you need to stop being so….so….what is the word I'm looking for…friendly? No….cozy. You need to stop being so cozy with Daryl." He patted Daryl's stomach when he said his name. "You're going to make the Rhee boy jealous and Daryl only likes you in a platonic manner anyway. You don't need to stir up trouble. I'm sure your 'boyfriend' is probably intimidated by Daryl as it is."

Maggie looked over to her father. "Glenn wasn't intimidated enough to keep him from throwing the first punch," she said sheepishly, then hastily added, "of course, even in the shape he's in, Daryl still could have beaten the stuffing out of him; but I'd never tell Glenn that."

Hershel was surprised. "_Glenn_ is responsible for Daryl's shiner? Maggie, you tell that boyfriend of yours that he'd better be using his head. I don't even know if Daryl's completely recovered from his concussion and a blow to the head has potential to cause some really serious problems," he said sternly, then added under his breath, "although when its full of rocks, it probably isn't so harmful."

"You're awful, Daddy!"

"Yes, that wasn't very nice. He just frustrates the heck out of me. Its like he doesn't take his injuries seriously. I honestly can't figure out how he's survived this long. If his whole life has been as traumatic as it has since I've known him, and his scars indicate that it probably was at times, it's a damned miracle that hes still breathing . Either he's too tough to die or he _is_ a tiger and has nine lives…or does that just work for domestic cats?" Hershel sighed. "Well, apparently its true that God loves flies and fools, that's why he made so many of them."

Maggie grinned as she dumped the used gauze and then her gloves into the trash can. "You said that you know that Daryl only likes me platonically. How do you know that?" she asked.

"I asked him."

Maggie looked like she'd just been slapped. "What? You asked him? What did you ask him? When? What did you say? What did _he _say? Oh, Dad, why did you do that?"

"I asked him a few days ago if he had designs on you. No offense, but he isn't the type of man I want pursuing any of my daughters. He assured me that he has nothing but a platonic interest in you and that even if he did , he wouldn't pursue you because he's too old for you. I was very pleased with his answer. Why did I feel the need to ask him? I did it because of the way you two carry on; you're always teasing him and I've never seen him talk to someone as much as he does with you. He doesn't seem the type to take kindly to teasing and I wondered why he tolerated it from you. I figured it was because he was sweet on you and I was worried. " Hershel washed his hands and put on another pair of gloves.

"Dad, Daryl is a good guy. He might be a bit rough around the edges, but hes a good guy. Why wouldn't you want him pursuing one of your daughters? We could do so much worse and it isn't like there are a lot of men out there now to choose from."

Hershel sighed and approached Daryl's bedside with a sterile package and a small basin. "Stop asking ridiculous questions and get on out of here. "

"Get out? Geesh, I just asked a question, are you mad at me now?" Maggie asked.

"No, not at all," Hershel explained. " I just have to finish up here so you just run along now." He waved a hand at her as if shooing her away.

"What are you doing and why are you in such a rush to get rid of me?" Maggie approached the bed to see what her father was up to and made a face. "You're cathaterizing him? Oh, Daddy, he's going to hate that!"

"Maggie, he won't even know and I can assure you that he'd prefer this to the alternative. I'll take it out in a couple of days right before I let him wake up. Now get out."

"Okay,okay! I'll leave! He's going to be okay now, right? I mean, you're not afraid of losing him anymore, right?"

"I'm going to reserve judgement on that for a couple days until he's been able to replenish some of his blood supply. If it makes you feel better, though, he continues to surprise me with his resilience. Now _get out_."

Maggie smiled and went to the head of the bed and grabbed a cookie off the plate that Carol had left on the bedside table.

"Maggie! _Out_!" Hershel ordered again.

"I'm going, I'm going!"

Then to Hershel's shock and surprise, Maggie bent over the bed and said, "Dad's sorry, Tiger" in Daryl's ear and then she kissed him soundly on the cheek. She looked at her father, smiled a huge smile and took a big bite out of the cookie she held. "Be gentle, Daddy, "she said with her mouth full of cookie and she turned and hurried out of the room.

Hershel shook his head as his eldest daughter left the room and then turned to concentrate on the unpleasant task before him.

* * *

Lori sat in a rocking chair on the back porch and stared at the patch of fresh dirt marking Shane's grave. She still couldn't believe he was gone. One minute she had been bawling him out for letting Carl handle a chainsaw and then less than twenty minutes later she had held his hand while he took his last breath. The reality of the situation hadn't sunk in yet. Shane couldn't be gone. He just couldn't be. She had tried to distract herself from thoughts of him yesterday after his death by watching "Shrek" with Carl, but she couldn't focus or pay attention. How could she? It bothered her that Carl could laugh so soon after Shane's demise. Had Carl become that cold? That detached? He hadn't said a word about Shane the rest of the day or last night. This morning before the group piled into their vehicles for their 'moving in' trip to the lake house, Carl's only mention of Shane had been in reference to the room he was now going to have that was originally going to be Shane's.

Lori had silently helped move their belongings into the house. She hadn't spoken to Rick at all but he had been courteous and had taken a box from her and asked her to sit down and rest and let him take care of bringing things into the house. He really was a good man.

After things were moved in but before they could be put away and organized, Carl had asked if he could go swimming if everyone else did and Lori had quickly said yes. She needed some time alone. Time to think.

She had told Shane it was over when Rick had miraculously returned with the party that went on a supply run into Atlanta. Rick had returned and Merle had been left behind and Lori had joked privately to some of the others that it was a damned good trade. She had tried to avoid Shane, but they had still carried on with each other every so often. She was still in love with him and it was obvious that he loved her. How could she stay away from him? She had felt so guilty sleeping next to Rick at night and wishing he was Shane, but Rick had been through so much to get back to her and Carl and Carl was so excited to have a 'real ' family again. What was she supposed to do? After all, she was still Rick's wife.

Lori heard a rustling in the bushes near the tree line outside the fence and she glanced over at it. A bush was swaying and waving around. She sighed. Local wildlife. She figured that she'd be seeing a lot of it out here. She took a sip of the iced tea on the small wooden table next to her and continued to slowly rock back and forth.

Lori tried to figure out where she would sleep that night. She had been so excited and happy when Rick had shown her their room on her first trip out to the house. He had been attentive and loving and she had been receptive to and appreciative of his concern. The room was lovely, although not as nice as the asshole redneck's room, but it had a fantastic view of the lake and was bright and roomy and comfortable. She sighed. She had enjoyed Rick's attention, but still wanted Shane. Maybe she had wanted both of them.

A low growl from her left made her jump and immediately pulled her from her thoughts.

There was a walker at the fence.

A small whimper like noise escaped Lori's throat and she leaped to her feet.

This sudden movement seemed to excite the walker and it groaned and snarled with added enthusiasm.

Lori's mind raced. Where was Carl? Was he in the house? Of course he was, either in the house or swimming. Either way, he was safe either behind the chain link fence or shielded from the danger of walkers by the lake. Lori stood frozen and took a good look at the walker. It had been a tall and ruggedly built man and he wore camouflage. Two belts of bullets crisscrossed his chest and a large pistol was in a holster on his belt, the bottom of the holster tied around his thigh. It looked like a relatively fresh walker. Minimal decomposition had occurred and thick, tarry purple blood was clotted around a large bite in front of the walker's right cheek and partially into it's mouth. The hole that was bitten there was big and deep enough so that Lori could see the lower and upper teeth and part of the mandible and maxilla bones. It appeared that part of the tongue had been bitten off as well.

The bushes behind the walker rustled again and two more camouflaged walkers in similar states of decomposition appeared and joined their counterpart at the fence, moaning , snarling and grasping at the fence and clinging to it, their dead blue fingers gripping the metal links.

Lori tried to scream, but no sound came out. She seemed to recall having nightmares where this very thing had happened. Not the walkers, but trying to scream and finding she had no voice. That was usually followed in the nightmare by trying to run away and finding you were frozen to the spot. Lori tried to run away and was relieved and almost surprised to find that she was not, in fact, glued to where she had been standing on the porch. She ran for the porch door and bolted through it into the kitchen.

* * *

Dale and Andrea were just entering the kitchen from the dining room. They both rushed to Lori as she ran toward them, nearly colliding with them. "Are you alright?" Dale put an arm around Lori as she wildly gesticulated and pointed to the porch door and cried out, "Walkers!"

"What!?" he and Andrea both asked at the same time.

"Lori put her hand on her chest and caught her breath. "Walkers… there are walkers at the fence." and she pointed again towards the back door.

"How many?" Dale asked as Andrea left and ran through the dining room and the great room to the foot of the stairway and yelled up the stairs for Rick.

Rick appeared almost immediately at the top of the stairs. He had just gotten out of his shorts and into his jeans and was pulling on a shirt. "What is it? Whats wrong?" he shouted as he thundered down the stairs.

"There are walkers out back!" Andrea yelled excitedly.

Rick ran towards the kitchen with Andrea right behind him. "How many?" he asked as he ran.

"I don't know. Lori just came in off the back porch and…"

"Is she okay?"

"She's fine."

Rick entered the kitchen and stopped. Dale had his head stuck out the open back door assessing the situation.

"How many?" Rick asked.

Dale looked over his shoulder at Rick "Five right now. All dressed in camo. A couple of them look really fresh."

Glenn, Maggie and Carl came running into the kitchen. Carl had socks on his feet and slid across the smooth hardwood floor, pretending to surf and his mother grabbed him as he was sliding by where she sat. "Stop horsing around for a moment, please, Carl! There are walkers outside!

In a moment everyone had gathered outside on the porch to assess the situation and decide what was to be done about it. They all discussed the matter as the walkers continued to groan and wail and snarl and snap as they pressed against the fence. Now there were seven. Four of them were recently turned walkers and the other three appeared to have been walkers for considerably longer. The senior walkers had lost much or most of the flesh on their faces and skin and decayed flesh hung loosely from their exposed bones. Two of them were missing an arm and the other one was missing both hands, both eyes and it's mandible.

As Dale looked at the walkers with disgust, he wondered how the one with the missing mandible planned to eat anyone.

Using firearms would be the quickest and safest way to dispatch the walkers, but Rick was concerned about drawing other walkers in. The fence was sturdy, but if there was a herd numbering in the hundreds within hearing distance, a lot of shooting wouldn't be such a good idea.

Maggie and Glenn doubted that a herd that large would make it through the deep and thick forest surrounding the secluded lakes but kept their mouths shut. Rick was the leader and they'd do what he said to do, as long as what he wanted them to do wasn't totally insane.

The crowbars and tamping irons came out of the garage and within five minutes the seven walkers had been rekilled. Rick, Glenn and Maggie armed themselves and then went outside the fence to make a new burn pile for the walkers and to check the woods nearby for more walkers.

Two more 'fresh' walkers were found wandering around in the woods close to the house and Glenn and Maggie took care of them and dragged the bodies out of the woods where Rick had started making a burn pile next to the lake. It was on the beach about a hundred feet from the fence and at the front of a two acre meadow that was bordered by trees on three sides and by the lake on the fourth. Field flowers, buttercups, daisies and black eyed susans waved in the breeze and a large white quartz glacial boulder about the size of a car sat almost in the middle of the meadow. Maggie and Glenn hadn't noticed this field as the trees between it and the house had shielded it from everyone's view.

Maggie and Glenn swung their two walker bodies up onto the burn pile and then took a peek at the meadow. "This would be a great place for the goats to graze." Maggie said excitedly, grabbing Glenn's arm.

Rick raised an eyebrow. "Goats?"

"Yes," Maggie explained as the three of them walked back towards to the fence around the house to remove the rest of the truly dead walkers. "Dad is going to let me have a couple of dairy goats and some chickens. I figured a supply of milk and eggs would be nice to have here. "

Rick smiled, "You're right. How does goat's milk taste? I've never had it."

"It's actually pretty good if you chill it right away. You'll get used to it."

"Hey," Rick said jovially, "beggars can't be choosers, right? I'm sure I'll like it just fine." He paused for a second. "I would like to barter with your father for some cream for coffee, though. Having fresh cream for my morning coffee at your house really spoiled me."

"Maybe we could trade frozen food or fuel with him." Maggie suggested. "I'm sure the two of you can work something out. "

They were quiet for a while as they worked to drag and pile up the last of the walkers. Rick poured some gasoline on the pile after debating whether or not it was a waste of valuable fuel. He decided he wasn't going to us enough to make a big difference and the roaring fire it produced that quickly started to eat up the corpses was well worth the loss of a small amount of gasoline.

They all stepped back closer to the lake and away from the overpowering smell similar to that of spoiled meat burning and stood in silence.

Glenn kept peeking over at Rick out from under his baseball cap and finally walked over and stood right next to him as he watched the fire. Glenn cleared his throat and said, "Hey, are you okay? I mean, the last couple of days have been pretty rough on you. I know Shane was your best friend. I'm really, really sorry about what happened. I feel awful about it. I didn't mean to….you know…"

Rick put his hand on Glenn's shoulder and smiled a sad smile. "Glenn, the Shane in that room yesterday wasn't the Shane I knew. If you hadn't have done what you'd done he would have either killed someone else or someone else would have killed him or both. He hurt Maggie and you went with your gut reaction. You have nothing to be sorry about."

Rick suddenly leaned in and looked intently at Glenn. Glenn felt his face flush. What was Rick doing?

Rick grasped Glenn's chin and turned his head a bit to the left. "Nice shiner. Glad to see Daryl's feeling better." He winked at Glenn and gave him a playful punch in the shoulder before walking away towards the house to get a bucket for water to douse the ground around the fire.

Glenn turned and looked at Maggie who was crouched next to the water, picking up flat stones and skipping them across the smooth water's surface. "Does everyone know that Daryl hit me? "

Maggie threw another flat rock, "Yup, and everyone knows that you hit him first. If Carol cooks tonight you might want to check your food and make sure she didn't hock a loogie into it or anything ."

Glenn bent over and picked up a flat rock and flung it out across the water. It skipped across the water four times before sinking. Glenn was quiet for a moment. Carol wouldn't do something like that. Would she? He turned to Maggie and she looked up at him as she scooped up another flat rock. He made a face and said. "You know what? That was really gross. I'm talking really, really disgusting. "

Maggie smiled. "Then I suppose I shouldn't mention the fly she killed on your raisin bread toasted sandwich right before we ate. " She tossed the rock out across the water.

Glenn watched her for a minute. "You know what?"

She smiled mischievously at him. "What?"

"I switched sandwiches with you when you weren't looking because yours had more filling."

Rick heard laughing and shrieking as he carried the two empty buckets towards the fire. Suddenly Glenn came running around the pines that hid the meadow holding his baseball cap on with one hand with Maggie right behind him. He was yelling and she was holding a large crayfish out in front of her, it's claws waving and snapping s as she chased Glenn with it. "Pinchy, pinchy, pinchy! We're going to get you!" she shouted. Rick rolled his eyes as Glenn went racing by him. Maggie went rushing by next, brandishing the large crustacean like a weapon and laughing hysterically.

Rick turned and watched Glenn swing the porch door open and slam it behind him in Maggie's face. Maggie whipped the door open and ran into the house not far behind him.

Rick sighed and smiled. It was nice to see a couple whose relationship hadn't been tainted by the interest of one of them in a third party. Of course, Maggie's and Glenn's relationship was relatively new, but they appeared to be devoted to each other. He hoped they never had to go through the same crap he and Lori were now facing.

Rick sat on the big quartz rock and watched the fire burn. He looked beyond it at the picture perfect lake and the hills that surrounded it. The place was beautiful and this little meadow was peaceful and far enough removed from the house to feel secluded. Rick listened to the pines whisper as they swayed in the breeze and the songs of birds as they moved through the shrubs and trees. A squirrel called and chirped angrily to another squirrel that was getting too close to it's secret seed stash under an old fallen log. Rick smiled. He could almost understand why Daryl prefered the solitude of the forest to the company of people. Rick sat for a few more minutes thinking of Shane, and then thinking of Lori and he suddenly realized just how exhausted he was. He climbed off the rock, brushed off his shirt and pants and decided that he wasn't going to think about Shane and Lori anymore tonight. Tonight he was going to eat a good meal and sleep in a comfortable bed and enjoy the feeling of being relatively safe.

* * *

Rick walked into the living quarters room, holding Daryl's crossbow. He moved across the room and leaned it against the bedside table between the table and the bed. Daryl was asleep on his right side and Rick placed the crossbow where he'd be sure to see it when he opened his eyes. Rick leaned over and examined Daryl's black eye. Glenn had gotten in a good shot, he decided. Maggie had said Daryl was better, but he still didn't look too good to Rick. He was extremely pale and Rick noticed as he had at another time how the bruises on Daryl's body stood out in stark contrast to his pale skin. The bruises around his neck were still visible and Rick wondered how long it would take them to fade away. Rick sat in the chair next to the bed and leaned back in it. Daryl had done a lot for all of them, and for him especially. Rick knew very well that if Daryl hadn't shot the walker that had been Shane when he did that he wouldn't be sitting there right now. It was quiet in the room except for the soft hissing of the oxygen tank and Daryl's breathing. Rick noticed the plate of cookies on the bedside table. He leaned forward and helped himself to one and then leaned back in the chair and made himself comfortable. Rick sat with Daryl until Maggie came into the room at almost 10pm to change Daryl's dressing before she went to bed.

* * *

Rick made his way to his bedroom on the second floor and flipped on the light switch as entered the room. He was surprised to find Lori asleep under the sheet on the left side of the bed. The left side of the bed had always been her side. He sighed, turned out the light and silently disrobed. After he'd draped his clothes across an overstuffed chair near the window, he slid between the sheets on the right side of the bed and laid his head down on a soft pillow. The bed was incredibly comfortable and big enough so that he and Lori were not touching each other. Rick yawned and turned away from Lori and pulled the sheet up over his shoulders. He closed his eyes and smiled a small smile before he fell asleep.


	46. Chapter 46

Rick awoke the next morning a little after 8am facing the left side of the bed. It was empty and had been made up, the sage green and light blue star quilt was tucked around the two pillows Lori had used. He thought for a moment and then pulled the quilt off the pillows and reached his hand under the bottom one. Lori had always folded her sleepwear and put it under the pillow upon rising and dressing in the morning. His hand brushed against the cool smooth satin of her nightgown and he withdrew his hand out from under the pillow. He raised his eyebrows. It appeared that she was planning on staying in the room with him and sharing the bed after all. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. His back ached from hauling walkers around the day before and he sighed. Getting older and starting to feel aches and pains that weren't there ten years ago really sucked.

He repositioned himself in the bed and fluffed his pillows, then buried his head in them. The bed was the perfect combination of soft and firm and so incredibly comfortable. It was a huge change from the stale smelling, thin mattress on the ground that he had called his bed now for several months while living in a tent. He'd gotten a good nights sleep and that was a good thing because he had a lot of planning to do and decisions to make today.

Those relatively "fresh" walkers that had shown up outside the fence yesterday had to be from the same place that the ones Daryl had encountered a few days ago feasting on a freshly dead soldier were from. In both cases, the walkers and the dead soldier had been well armed but carried absolutely no identification. Rick decided that he would get up and shower, pour himself a big, strong cup of coffee, (hopefully there was some cream left for it) and review the information in the files from the war room and see what else he could learn about the bases. Then he would see about organizing a heavily armed party to make a sweep around the lake. Daryl had hiked about half way around the lake and had mapped the terrain out in his head.

Rick had been amazed by Daryl's ability to do this ever since he had first seen it in action. When they were on the move after the walker attack at the quarry, they camped at a different place each night for several days as they wanted to keep moving. Every day Daryl would go into the strange new woods to hunt and then emerge later right where he'd gone in. Rick finally had to ask the hunter how he was able to do it and Daryl had mumbled something about maps in his head and then pushed on by Rick. He'd still been plenty mad at Rick then about the Merle situation.

The loss of T-Dog and Shane would be sharply felt in this case. Rick would have rather left all the women at the house, but he was going to have to bring either Andrea or Maggie along with them. Carol and Lori would just be baggage as their shooting skills left a lot to be desired.

Rick smiled. He had mentioned once to Daryl that he felt that Carol's shooting skills had 'left a lot to be desired' and Daryl had huffed at him. "Jes' say whatcha mean, Grimes, instead a this (and he put on a hoity toity best-English-accent-he-could-do voice) 'Carol's shooting skills leeeve a lot to bee desiaaad' bullshit, jes' say 'Carol's shootin' sucks.' See how easy 'at is? Save yerself a lotta breath an' everyone else a lotta time."

He would feel so much better about this little 'walk around the lake' trip he was planning if Daryl was coming along, but of course, he couldn't. Rick wondered it he should postpone his plan until Daryl was better, but then decided he'd better not. If Daryl found out Rick was waiting on him before making a scouting trip around the lake, he would be in a big rush to get back into the woods. Rick knew Daryl would abandon all common sense and Hershel's orders so he could go with Rick even before he safely was able to. No, the sooner they made this scouting trip, the better. Rick groaned and left the warm comfort of the bed. It was time to shower and get busy.

* * *

Andrea woke up before Carol did and quietly made her bed and then scooted into the bathroom across the hall. She'd taken her long, hot bath the night before and had been delighted to have found some scented bubble bath in the cupboard. She had gone to bed after her bath and fallen right to sleep. It had been wonderful to feel so clean and fresh and to slide into a real bed made up with clean sheets. It was the best night's rest she'd had in months and she was feeling fantastic this morning. She pinned her hair back and washed her face and got dressed. She was excited. Today Rick, Dale and Glenn were going to finish up the exterior door that they were installing in Daryl's room and then she and Carol were going to spruce up his room. It would be a lot of fun and they both had some great ideas.

Rick had suggested paneling the room with the cedar paneling in the garage that was apparently left over from when the trophy den on the third floor was finished, but Andrea decided that would be too much of a big change to make without seeking Daryl's permission and approval first. She had a feeling that Daryl would probably throw a fit about the changes she and Carol were going to make to the room but that he would calm down after an initial explosion and actually like the changes. She was also determined to cut that damned hair of his today. Daryl hadn't had a haircut the whole time she'd known him and as far as she was concerned, he was long overdue for one.

She was good at cutting and styling hair and had cut her friends' hair while she was in college and had even cut her own on occasion. Her "customers" always "ooh'd" and "ahh'd" over the great job she did and she loved to do it. In her last year of law school, right before a particularly difficult case evaluation was due, she had seriously considered quitting and going to a hairdressing trade school. Her parents would have killed her and it would have been a huge mistake, but she had considered it. She had continued to cut hair for herself, friends and relatives even after she'd finished law school and passed the bar exam. It was creative, she was good at it and it was fun for her.

Andrea hopped down the stairs and stopped in the doorway of Daryl's room to check it out. She and Carol had been able to scrub and soak the blood and other disgusting fluids partially out of the rug and the Bissel carpet cleaner had done a great job of taking care of the rest. The bed linens had been soaked and washed and the blood, bone chips and brain matter had been wiped off the furniture. The walls that were sprayed with viscous fluids were washed, but it was impossible to remove the stains, so she and Carol had painted the stained walls using a bucket of matching interior paint they'd found in the garage. The results of their work were impressive and there was nothing left to indicate that there'd been a bloodbath in the room.

Some of the clean clothes Daryl had piled on his mirrored dresser had gotten splattered and as Andrea had gone through them when putting them in the wash, she had been tempted to throw most if not all of them in the trash. He had half a dozen shirts with the sleeves ripped off them and most of them had at least one hole in them and permanent stains from motorcycle grease or animal blood or God knows what else. He had two pairs of jeans and three pairs of work pants and they all sported at least one hole in the knee and the hems at the bottom of the legs were torn and ragged. 'No wonder he always looks like a hobo', she'd thought. His socks, surprisingly, had all appeared to be relatively new and while most of his undershirts were in okay shape, there were some that were ready to be reborn as cleaning rags or tossed into the garbage. His boxers and briefs were threadbare and thin and Andrea threw most of them into the garbage. They weren't even sturdy enough to be recycled as rags. Daryl did have two pairs of flannel boxers that looked to be almost new. Andrea considered stealing a pair of them for herself as they were soft and she was sure they'd be very comfortable, but she decided that Daryl needed them more than she did. Carol had done the washing and Andrea helped her fold clothes and a lively conversation about men's underwear had ensued after the question,"Which do you think are sexier, boxers or briefs and why?" had been asked.

* * *

Andrea smiled remembering the conversation and left the doorway of Daryl's room to check out the odor coming from the kitchen. It smelled like someone was making muffins. She entered the room just as Maggie was pulling a dozen muffins out of the oven. Steam rolled off them and they smelled wonderful.

"Good morning," Maggie seemed to be awfully cheerful this morning. Andrea smiled. Of course she was..she'd spent the night in the same bed as Glenn.

"Good morning," Andrea replied. "Did you sleep well?"

Maggie smiled and blushed. "I slept well, but not much. "

Andrea smiled as she fumbled with the coffee maker. "Are you bragging or complaining?" she asked.

Maggie laughed. "Both, I suppose. Did you sleep well?"

Andrea sighed as her coffee started brewing. "Like a baby. A dead baby." She grimaced, "Wow, that's gruesome, isn't it? Yes, I slept very well. That bath I took just totally relaxed me and it didn't take me long to get to sleep at all. The bed is so comfortable, too." She paused for a moment, then said, "Do you know why I really think I slept so well?"

Maggie nodded and said, "I'll bet I know. It was because you felt safe, wasn't it? There's something about this house that makes me feel safe; like everything is going to be okay. I feel like I don't have to worry about a walker shuffling into my room in the middle of the night or renegades bursting in. I feel almost at peace here."

Andrea nodded. That was exactly it. This house made her feel safe, too. She wasn't sure if that was a good thing, though. It was never wise to totally let down your guard. Her coffee was ready and Andrea took a sip of the strong black brew. She licked her lips, it was a dark roast called Dark Magic and it was strong and delicious. "I'm going to cut Daryl's hair today," she announced to Maggie.

"Really? While he's sleeping? Won't that be difficult?"

Andrea smirked. "I'm sure it will be a lot easier than it would be if he was awake. He'd be pushing the scissors and my hands away and muttering and cussing about how he hates to be touched. This will be a piece of cake compared to that."

Maggie smiled. Andrea had that pegged right. "Good for you!" she said to Andrea, "I asked him a couple days ago if I could cut it for him. You're not going to cut it really short are you? I mean, it isn't any of my business, but I just can't see him with a Shane buzz cut."

Andrea pictured Daryl with no hair and laughed. "No. Personally, I think he looks good with it a bit on the longer side, but it's too long right now. My feelings on that are that when it gets long enough so it can be put into a ponytail, it is too long."

"Maybe we should wait on cutting it and braid it instead for him. Want a muffin?" Maggie offered.

Andrea took one. "Braid it? Do you have a death wish? Is this apple cinnamon?"

"Awww, wouldn't you love to see the look on his face...yes, it's apple cinnamon." Maggie was arranging two muffins on a tray with two cups of coffee. "I'm going to remove Tiger's head wound stitches today. I can do that when you're done cutting his hair. Just be sure you've got enough hair in that area so the shorter shaved part doesn't show or he won't be a happy camper. "

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "Tiger? Whats that all about, Maggie?"

Maggie blushed. Had she referred to Daryl as "Tiger" when speaking to Andrea just now? She must have. "Well, it's a nickname I have for him."

Andrea smirked. "Really? Tiger is your nickname for Daryl? Do tell.."

"Okay," the words rushed out of Maggie, "You know how Daryl is about being touched, how he hates it? Well, he was being all cranky because I grabbed his arm and he wanted to know why everyone always wanted to be touching him when he hates it so. He said T-Dog was always touching him and Rick and everyone and he couldn't understand why when we all know how it bugs him. I told him that it was like that saying about how God made cats so man would know how it felt to pet the tiger but that sometimes, even though we have the cat, we still want to risk it all and pat the tiger. See? He's like the tiger because it's dangerous to touch him. He wants to bite your head off if you dare to touch him. Does that make sense?"

Andrea smiled a big smile, "Maggie, that is genius. It makes perfect sense." She and Maggie both giggled. "Tiger Dixon!?" she exclaimed, "That is too funny."

* * *

Glenn was sitting on the edge of the back porch with a wheelbarrow in front of him, cleaning and inspecting it's contents. The walkers that had been dispatched the day before had been stripped of their weapons and ammunition before being deposited in the burn pile and the salvaged items had been hurriedly tossed into a wheelbarrow that Maggie had yanked out of the garage and parked near the fence where the seven walkers had been destroyed. Some of the weapons and ammo had been soiled with blood and dirt and Glenn was now concentrating on cleaning everything in the wheelbarrow that appeared to be usable and placing it in a red Radio Flyer wagon.

Maggie came out onto the porch with a tray with two cups of coffee and two muffins on it. She put the tray on the porch next to where Glenn sat working and plopped herself down beside it. "Whatchadoin'?" She asked.

"Performing a complicated and delicate brain transplant." he replied. "So be quiet and observe carefully."

Maggie sighed. "You know, it's too early in the day to be making sarcastic remarks. You're in violation of the sarcasm rules of engagement if you start before noon." she leaned over towards him. "you owe a fine, now pay up, mister."

Glenn smiled at her and leaned over and kissed her. "Am I free to go now, officer?" he asked.

"Oh I don't think so," Maggie said in a husky voice, "I think I need to bring you to the interrogation room and tie you to the bed, ask you some questions."

Glenn chuckled. "Oh really, officer. What kind of questions?" he asked and he took a sip of coffee.

"Oh...questions like, 'does this tickle'?' and 'how does that feel' and 'can you put that in here?'"

Glenn choked on his coffee and some of it came out of his nose. "Geesh, Maggie. You can't be saying stuff like that to me during the day when there are other people around!" he complained.

She leaned towards him, licked his earlobe and then took it in her teeth. She gently pulled on it, then whispered in his ear, "Why not?"

"You are so evil!" Glenn exclaimed.

Maggie bit his earlobe again. "And you love it, don't you...you love that I get you all hot and bothered and that I want you _so_ bad and.."

"Stop it! " Glenn said as he laughed. "Or I'll be walking around with a boner all morning."

Maggie laughed. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Here, eat your muffin and I'll help you with this stuff." She grabbed a Glock service revolver out of the wheelbarrow. "Hand me one of your rags, please, and I'll start cleaning some of these off, too."

Glenn handed her a rag that had been one of Daryl's old t-shirts and she started cleaning off the gun. He watched her as she examined the gun with concentration and a furrowed brow. He sighed. "I'm really sorry I was jealous of Daryl." he said quietly. "and I can't believe I hit him." He smiled. "and I really can't believe that he let me get away with it."

Maggie turned to him and raised and eyebrow, then brought her hand up to Glenn's face and gently stroked the bruise beneath his right eye. "You call this letting you get away with it?" she asked.

"After punching Daryl Dixon in the face? Hell, yeah. That is exactly what I call it. The fact that I'm still living and breathing is a testimony to the fact that I got away with it. I think he only gave me the retaliatory punch because he wasn't feeling so great and that's all he had at the time. "

"Hmmm..." Maggie said thoughtfully, "You know, you're probably right. Daryl was hurt and weak and tired and..."

"What, are you trying to make me feel worse for hitting him? Gee, thanks."

"Do you feel bad for hitting him? I thought you just said you were sorry for being jealous, You didn't say you were sorry for hitting him."

"Of course I feel bad. It doesn't make me look very manly, either, to hit him when...now what did you say? When he's weak and hurt and stuff. You saw how Andrea glared at me."

Maggie nodded. "You think Andrea was bad? You're lucky my Dad didn't corner you and give you an earful. He wasn't too happy with you. Daryl had a recent head injury and a concussion and Dad said a blow to the head could have really caused problems."

Glenn sighed and put his head in his hands. "This is just great. Now your Dad likes me even less."

Maggie smiled. "No, I don't think so. Now he just thinks that you're an idiot. If it makes you feel better he did make some comment about it being hard to hurt Daryl by hitting him in the head because his head is full of rocks."

Glenn took his head out of his hands and turned to face Maggie with a grin. "Your father said that about Daryl? Wow! And Ms. Greene...about me being an idiot: Of course I'm an idiot. I'm dating you, so that proves it."

Maggie clutched her heart and leaned backwards, making an exaggerated painful face. "Oooh..Owww...that hurt."

Glenn leaned over and kissed her. "All better now?" he asked.

Maggie grinned slyly at him. "No, but it will hold me over. For a little while."

She finished cleaning the Glock and placed it carefully in the wagon and grabbed another revolver out of the wheelbarrow and began wiping it down.

* * *

Andrea frowned. This was turning out not to be as easy as she thought it would be. She had wanted to trim Daryl's hair, but the cut of his hair was so haphazard and the layers were so uneven. 'It's like a cow chewed on it.' she thought as she tried to even the sides out.

She had pulled out the pillow and slid a towel under his head and wrapped a half sheet over his neck and chest to catch the hair as she cut it. About five minutes into the cut she began to question what the hell she was doing. What if Daryl got mad when he awoke to less hair on his head? Would he feel violated? And wasn't it sort of creepy of her to even be doing this? To be cutting his hair when he was basically unconscious? Yes, it probably was, but it wasn't as much as a violation as what Maggie had done and it wasn't even anywhere near as bad as what Hershel had apparently done. She was doing this to show him she cared about him. They all cared about him and it was about time they started letting him know it. She would tell him that she cut his hair because she liked him and she wanted to do it for him because she appreciated him and was grateful for all he did for her and for the group.

She was almost finished when Dale poked his head through the door. "Hey, there you are." he said happily. "I wondered if you'd like to go fishing with me and Carl."

Andrea smiled. "Sure, I should be finished here in a moment."

Dale stepped into the room and watched her trimming and evening the edges of Daryl's hair near his temples. "If you're up for cutting hair, I could use a trim later, " Dale said with a grin.

"Sure, it would be my pleasure," Andrea replied. She brushed off Daryl's face with a dry cotton cloth and swept the hair off his neck onto the sheet, then gathered up the hairy sheet and towel and folded them so no loose hair would escape. She would take them outside and shake them out before washing them. She lifted Daryl's head and slid the pillow in behind it, and then pulled him over so he was lying on his right side instead of flat on his back. "There," she said to him. "Much better." She turned to Dale and smiled. "Okay, let's go. What are we using for bait? Do I have time to catch some crayfish?"

* * *

Maggie came into the room about an hour later to change Daryl's dressing. Daryl was on his right side, so she pulled him onto his back and pushed his hair back from his eyes. Andrea had left a bit of length, but his hair looked a lot better. She bent and placed her mouth near his ear. "Looks good, Tiger. " she said. She thought she saw his eyelids twitch. She leaned in to look closer and watched as Daryl's eyelids slowly opened. Two pools of azure blue stared at her. This was not supposed to happen. He was supposed to stay asleep. "Daryl? What the hell? You're awake?"

Daryl didn't speak, didn't move, but when Maggie stood up and stepped back, the blue eyes followed her. "Daryl! " Maggie shook his shoulder. He looked right at her but didn't say a word. She moved to the other side of the bed and his eyes followed her. Shit, had he had a stroke or something? She checked his pulse, it was strong and regular. She checked the pupils of his eyes, they were normal and both were the same size. She pinched him, really hard, to see if it would make him jump or react. It didn't. He was still under sedation and couldn't feel a thing.

"Daryl, say something." she said, but he didn't. She shook his shoulders again, "Daryl?" He continued to stare and Maggie wondered if this was some sort of bizarre side effect from the combination of drugs he was getting. "Daryl, are you awake?" She asked. He didn't flinch or move at all, but his eyes stayed locked on hers. "Daryl, stop that, it's giving me the creeps!" she said. He didn't answer her and still stared. "Fine, then. If you want to play some creepy weird staring game go ahead. I'm taking care of your dressing. If you're awake, just know this is pretty painful. Okay?" Daryl didn't move while she slid the sheet off his chest and down to his waist. She peeled away the exterior dressing and then started pulling out the wound packing materials. She made a face as she studied the wound exudate on the packing gauze. It looked totally disgusting but the wound was healing and it wasn't infected and those were the main concerns. She held the goopy, disgusting old packing material up in front of Daryl's staring eyes. "Here, look at this. Maggie said to him. "Is this gross or what? This goop is forming inside of you. Doesn't it make you just want to barf? See it?" Maggie threw the packing into the garbage. She removed the gloves and tossed them in the trash and went to wash her hands before putting on a new pair of gloves. She looked over at Daryl, his eyes were closed now and she breathed a sigh of relief. It had given her the creeps to have Daryl watching what she was doing, although it didn't seem that he was actually awake at all. She was definitely going to have to ask her father about this. She repacked the wound and taped down the top dressing and then threw her gloves away.

Maggie ran her hand down the side of Daryl's face, over his scratchy stubble. She hated seeing him so dependent on those around him. She knew he hated having to depend on others, too. She sighed. Was she actually jealous of Andrea's crush on Daryl? Had she developed feelings for him without even realizing it? She loved Glenn, and she knew that. So why was she finding herself thinking of Daryl so much lately? Because he was hurt, of course. That was it. That had to be it. She leaned in and spoke to Daryl. "You be still, Tiger. Just be still, relax and heal. We all miss you. I miss you, but you'll be back with us soon enough. " She considered for a minute and then decided it wasn't hurting anyone and she wanted to do it, so she leaned over and kissed his forehead. "Get better, sweetie, and keep your damned eyes closed until it's time to wake up." She pulled the sheet back up under his neck and left the room.

**Chapter 47. The adapter on my laptop died and I just got the new one so I've gotten behind in writing and posting. Sorry about that. I have some new readers lately and I want to say welcome and thanks for taking the time to read my story. I really appreciate it! **


	47. Chapter 47

Rick sat on the deck and watched the sky. Dark clouds had rolled in right before noon and he could hear thunder in the distance. The breeze that had been blowing off the lake had stopped and everything was still, like nature was holding it's breath, waiting for the coming storm to arrive. The air had gotten hot and humid as the day had progressed and Rick wiped the sweat off the back of his neck. He looked out across the lake and could see the boat where Dale had anchored it near a sunken island. Dale, Carl and Andrea had been out fishing for quite a while now and occasionally their laughs and shouts when one of them hooked a fish would come drifting across the lake to Rick's ears. Thunder rumbled again and the sky became even darker. He sighed. He'd have to call off today's scouting trip around the lake because everything indicated that it was going to pour and wet and miserable conditions were not conducive to a productive and thorough information gathering expedition. He heard the door open onto the deck, but didn't tear his eyes from the boat. Carl was laughing and yelling about a 'monster fish', his shrill voice being carried across the water.

Lori sat down beside Rick. He glanced over at her and she smiled weakly at him. "Can we talk?" she asked quietly.

Rick moved his chair so he was directly facing Lori. "Of course we can, " he said gently.

Lori exhaled audibly. "Okay, first of all, are you okay with me sharing the bedroom and the bed with you? Because if you're not, I can probably move into Carl's room. "

Rick raised his eyebrows. "Lori, I think the question here is are you okay with sharing the room with me? I have to admit, I was surprised to find you in bed in the room last night. Surprised, but not disappointed. "

Lori felt her eyes tear up. "Really? You weren't disappointed? Rick, I'm so sorry and I'm so confused. I won't deny that I was in love with Shane, and our marriage was in trouble when you got shot, but the world has changed now. You've changed. I've changed. Carl's changed…"

Rick put a finger to his lips and one on his other hand against hers shushing her. "Lori," he said, his voice breaking, "There aren't too many families left anymore. I'd like to try to make ours work. I know it won't happen overnight…but I'm willing to let bygones be bygones."

Tears started to run down Lori's face, " I know I don't deserve a second chance."

Rick agreed in his mind, no, she didn't, but the world had changed and he had, too. "We all make mistakes." he said. The shrewd Alpha Male in him knew that procreation was a necessity if the human race was to survive the apocalypse and Lori had proven her ability to carry children, (Lord, was he actually thinking of her as 'good breeding stock' like she was some sort of prize heifer?)and he would be wanting more of them. It looked like Maggie and Glenn could possibly end up adding to the gene pool as well.

Lori wiped her eyes and smiled. "Thank you, Rick." She stood up to leave and he stood up as well.

As she turned to go, Rick grabbed her by the shoulder and turned her around to face him, then he leaned in and kissed her. He looked into her teary, deep brown eyes and quietly said, "everything will be alright."

Lori smiled a small smile and nodded. She turned and headed for the door as the wind started to pick up. Maybe Rick was right. Maybe everything would be alright.

Rick turned and watched as the boat roared towards the dock. Dale slowed it down and it coasted into the slip. Andrea grabbed the dock to keep the boat from bumping it and she and Dale tethered the front and rear of the boat to the dock as Carl jumped out with a pail with six nice sized rainbow trout in it.

Rick looked into the bucket. "Nice catch!"

Carl was ecstatic. "We each caught two! Isn't that awesome?! And I caught the biggest one!"

Rick clapped him on the back, "Good job."

Dale and Andrea hopped out of the boat as it started to rain lightly. "Perfect timing!" Andrea exclaimed, "Here comes the rain!"

They all bolted for the door. They had just gotten inside when the rain started coming down harder.

Carl carried the pail of fish into the kitchen to help Andrea clean them and Dale made a bee line to the bathroom, muttering something about having to hold it for the last hour and a half.

* * *

Rick smiled and sank into one of the overstuffed great room chairs. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain beat against the windows and the thunder rumble. He exhaled a sigh of contentment. The last time there had been a big thunderstorm, he had been wet and miserable, riding it out in a thin walled tent. Now here he was, sheltered from the elements, warm, dry and comfortable and safe as the storm raged outside. Someone bumped his leg. He jumped and his eyes flew open. Andrea stood there holding two steaming mugs and grinning sheepishly.

"Wow, I'm sorry. Here, I brought you a chai tea latte." She placed a napkin on the coffee table in front of Rick and set one of the mugs down on it before sitting in the overstuffed chair next to Rick's. "So, she said after she'd taken a sip from her mug. "I'm guessing our little field trip has been called off. "

Rick nodded and picked up the mug in front of him. "You guessed right. " He inhaled the vapor curling from the mug. It smelled of cloves and cinnamon. "This smells pretty interesting," he said as he took an experimental sip.

Andrea looked at him expectantly and giggled at the foam mustache the latte had left on Rick's own mustache. "Well? What do you think?" she asked. "Do you like it?"

Rick smiled at Andrea's hopeful look, "Honestly?" he said to her, "It's nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be."

Andrea's face fell. "You hate it, don't you..."

Rick gave her a tight lipped small smile, then said, "You know…hate is such a strong word..." then he started to laugh. "Okay, it isn't bad at all. A little sweeter than I usually like but the spices and the tea go well together. If it wasn't quite so sweet, it would be a perfect drink for a day like today. "

Andrea stood up and grinned. "Grimes, you are so full of crap," she said. She reached her hand towards Rick and he handed her the almost full cup of chai latte. "Do you want a cup of coffee or something not quite as exotic as this?" she asked.

Rick waved her away, "Thank you but I'm all set. Unless, of course, there's a bottle of whiskey hidden somewhere. "

Andrea looked like she was pondering something then she shook her head. "I know where a couple bottles are hidden, but I refuse to subject myself to the wrath of a Dixon. I'd be number one on his shit-list if I was to snitch."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "Ah…in his bedroom. Well I just might.."

"Don't you dare, Rick! There's rum and gin and all sorts of other stuff upstairs in the trophy room, but Daryl has laid claim to the Southern Comfort and the Jack Daniels and you just stay out of his room or I'll…I'll.."

"You'll what?"

"I'll... tell on you! That's what. He'll be so mad at you!" Andrea was starting to get frustrated with Rick.

Rick burst out laughing. "Don't worry. I won't touch Daryl's stash. After all he's done for us, he deserves first dibs on whatever the hell he wants."

Andrea smiled. "That's more like it." She said, then she scowled at him. "Why do you have to be such a stinker? Getting me all riled up thinking you were going to toss Daryl's room looking for booze. "

"Because I like to watch you squirm?" he gave Andrea a wink and then immediately regretted it. What the hell was he doing? Flirting with Andrea? He was still a married man!

Andrea smiled and said, "You're evil, Rick Grimes." and she stood up and carried both mugs back to the kitchen.

Rick decided that he'd go up to the war room and read through a few more files to see if he could find any useful information about the other bases. He wondered if they had been overrun or if any of them were being used by survivors and if so, if they were as well equipped as this house was. Maybe he'd sit with Daryl while he looked through the files. Poor Daryl, Rick thought. It seemed like he'd stepped out into a shit storm without an umbrella on the day he came staggering back to the farm after being thrown from "Nervous Nellie". He'd had one hell of a shitty day, being impaled with one of his own bolts, injuring his head falling into the ravine and then being shot by Andrea. Things just seemed to consistently go downhill for the man from there. Where he was now, though, as far as Rick was concerned, was all Shane's fault. Hershel had told him that it appeared that Daryl had started bleeding internally before he even left the farm after his fight with Shane. Shane had targeted Daryl's weak spot where the bolt had pierced him. Rick himself had seen how Shane went after Daryl's injury when Shane had attacked Daryl after trying to smother him. It was ironic that Shane wanted Daryl dead so badly, but that it was Shane who actually had kept Daryl alive. Hershel had said that if Daryl hadn't gotten the transfusion from Shane when he did, the blood loss from the damage Shane did when he kicked the hell out of Daryl would have definitely killed him. Rick smirked. Shane had learned the hard way that karma was a bitch. Shane had ruined his own plans. It served him right and Rick hoped Daryl was strong enough to recover from the attack. He was pretty confident that he was. Daryl had once said to Rick, "Nobody can kill Merle except Merle." Rick hoped that the same could be said about Daryl. He was an important part of the group and they couldn't afford to lose him.

* * *

The rain came down harder and the wind picked up even more as the rain came down in sheets. "I'll bet this is part of a hurricane that blew in from the coast." Dale said as he looked out one of the large windows in the great room. The lightning flashed and thunder boomed. "This really makes me miss the Weather Channel," he sighed. "It really stinks, not knowing when a storm like this will show up."

Glenn was sitting on the couch, playing a game on an iPod touch. He looked up for at Dale for a second, then back at his game and said, "Daryl would have known it was coming."

Dale turned to look at Glenn. "You think so?"

"I know so." Glenn said confidently. "Remember when Daryl took me with him to look for Sophia a day or so after she turned up missing? We'd left at sunrise in the morning to look and when early afternoon rolled around he said that I should get back to camp because a big storm was on its way. It was sunny without a cloud in the sky and I told him I thought he was wrong. He insisted that it would be on us within two hours. I still doubted it so we bet on it. He actually wagered his Bowie knife. I wanted that knife so damned bad and I was sure I was going to win it. I went back to our campsite and the storm blew in shortly after I got there. He came out of the woods at dusk soaked to the skin. I asked him how he knew a it was going to rain. He said that the animals behave differently when a storm is coming; but what impressed me and sort of scared me was when he told me that he could smell it and feel it coming. He said something about the negatively and positively charged ions in the air and some balance being disrupted. He was always letting me know after that what the weather was going to be. I think he liked to do it because he knew it freaked me out that he could tell like that."

Dale nodded. "So what did you lose?"

Glenn looked confused. "What?"

"In the bet, you said Daryl had put up his Bowie knife. What did you put up?"

Glenn smiled sheepishly. "My guitar."

Dale nodded. "I wondered what had happened to that."

"He threw it on the fire that night. He had the biggest darn smile on his face when he did it and he laughed and said, 'No more plinky plink for you, China.' Miserable son of a gun. I don't think he was any too happy afterward when you found one in a car on the highway and gave it to me. "

Dale smiled. "I didn't know what had happened to yours. I figured it got left somewhere when we were in a hurry to get moving. I guess I should have asked."

Glenn played with his game for a few more minutes, then his head shot up and he looked over at Dale who was again watching the storm out the window. "Hey!" Glenn exclaimed, "What was that supposed to mean?"

"Why nothing," said Dale innocently. "Just that maybe Daryl had a reason for his actions and had I known what it was, I might not have been so hasty to put another guitar into your hands."

Glenn pouted. "I'm not that awful."

Maggie had entered the room a few minutes before and had been listening to the last bits of the conversation Glenn and Dale were having. She walked over to Glenn, sat on the couch next to him and put an arm around his shoulder. "I'm sorry, dear, " she said sympathetically "but yes, you are."

* * *

Andrea and Carol worked on rearranging Daryl's room. They made the bed up with fresh linens and the freshly washed baby blue quilt and moved the bed and the dressers so the new exterior entrance to the room wouldn't be partially blocked by the bed. Andrea placed a doormat in front of the door entrance and a boot rack next to it. One of the bobcats from the third floor den now stood on top of the tall dresser and the skunk stood near the exterior door. An antique hall storage bench with a tall back with pegs for coats had been taken from the old farmhouse that had supplied the exterior door and was placed against the wall next to it the door. Andrea placed Daryl's ammo, his little Beretta and the Blackhawks which were safely tucked away in their boxes, in the bench and hung the double holster from one of the pegs. Four Frederick Remington framed prints were hung on the walls and a patchwork quilt in various shades of blue was folded at the foot of the bed. Andrea and Carol were very pleased with the changes. The room had been nice before, but it had a unisex feel to it. It could have been a man's or a woman's room. Now it definitely looked like it was a man's room, and an outdoorsy man's room at that.

* * *

Rick was sitting next to Daryl and reading papers in a folder when Maggie came into the room to change Daryl's dressing. He looked over at her as she poured sterile water into a basin and placed a roll of gauze in it to soak. "Do you want me to leave?" he asked.

"No reason to, unless you've got a weak stomach, " Maggie replied over her shoulder.

Rick decided he'd stay. "Is there anything I can do to help?

"No, but thanks for asking."

"Will I be in your way?"

"Not at all. I have to work from the other side of the bed, anyway."

Rick watched as Maggie pulled on surgical gloves and then removed the top dressing. He cringed when she started slowly pulling a piece of gauze from the open wound. She pulled and it kept coming and coming out of the wound. It seemed to Rick like there was a hundred feet of the stuff in there. It was caked with a slimy greenish white mucousy looking substance with an occasional chunk of something darker green clinging to the cloth. "I didn't realize his wound was open like that." Rick said, feeling a little sick to his stomach. "All the gauze coming out of it. It looks like it must be pretty deep."

Maggie nodded. "It is, but its healing really well. Dad couldn't close the wound or it wouldn't have healed properly." She threw the used muck covered gauze away and started to rinse the wound out.

Rick watched as Maggie packed clean, wet gauze into the wound and pushed it down with a cotton swab. She wasn't going to us tweezers again.

Rick was fascinated by the procedure. "I can't believe he's all opened up like that. I would think it would hurt like hell."

Maggie nodded. "It does."

"How long does it take something like that to heal?

"One like this? I'm not sure. You'd have to ask my Dad. At least a couple of weeks. It is healing really well, though. Dad was pleased."

Rick looked at Daryl's face. He was still pale but his features were relaxed and his breathing was deep and regular. He looked back as Maggie packed gauze into the open wound and then looked back at Daryl. Daryl looked like he was taking a relaxing nap. Rick would never have known to look at him that he was having gauze shoved and packed down into a deep, open wound. Rick decided then and there that Hershel had done the right thing when he decided to sedate Daryl for a few days. Daryl had had enough pain in his life and if Hershel could spare him from feeling some more, then more power to him. "Does your Dad think he's going to be okay?"

Maggie bit her lower lip as she pulled off her gloves. She sighed and said, "He won't tell me outright. He said he wants to wait a couple of days before he'll say one way or another. He thinks Daryl needs time to replenish his red blood cells before he can make the call. Personally, I think he's going to be okay. If we were going to lose him, I think it would have been the night before last. That was a rough night. He's getting better now. The only thing I'd be afraid of would be an infection, and we're doing everything we can to make sure he doesn't get one."

Rick nodded. "Good." Life had been kicking the hell out of Daryl lately and an infection was the last thing he needed.

* * *

Dinner that night was trout in a lemon butter sauce and a brown rice/zucchini /summer squash casserole. Everyone ate well and praised the fishermen and fisherwoman. Carl was beaming and took great delight in telling the story of how he caught the biggest trout of the six that had been hooked earlier that day. "It was so cool, the water is so clear that you could see the fish as you reeled it in! It was neat and a little bit spooky, too." Carl explained.

Lori smiled at her son, "Spooky? How was it spooky?" she asked.

Carl had just taken a mouthful of fish and he waited until he was done chewing and swallowing it to reply, " Just being able to see so far down into the water and to actually see the fish looking up at you. That's spooky." He took another bite of fish and continued with his mouth full, "but its okay 'cause it sure is tasty."

Lori nodded and said, "It sure is. Now don't talk with your mouth full."

Rick smiled and winked at Carl.

* * *

The storm continued on through the night. Lighting flashed and lit up darkened rooms in the house. The thunder and lightning would stop after a while and the rain would slow down and the wind would die out. Just when Rick thought the storm was over and the clouds were all rained out, the wind would pick up again. This seemed to be some sort of signal for the rain to start up even harder.

It rained most of the next day and everyone stayed voluntarily confined to the house for the day. DVD movies were watched and popcorn made, board games were played and Carl, Maggie and Glenn had a great time playing video games. The clothing from the bureaus and closets in the house was gathered and sorted out in the great room and everyone chose clothes that would fit them and that they liked from the piles. Andrea grabbed a couple of pairs of jeans that she thought would fit Daryl and three nice cotton button down shirts. She held the shirts up on their hangers and admired them, knowing that when she saw them in use, they'd be minus their sleeves. Rooms were tidied and rearranged and books were read. It ended up being a lazy, relaxing day for everyone.

* * *

Glenn took some time to sit with Daryl and started reading Stephen King's "The Stand". He knew Daryl couldn't hear him, but he read the story out loud anyway. Daryl had once told him that he'd really liked that book when he'd read it years ago back in high school. Glenn found it to be creepy, scary and depressing, but he just had to find out what happened next, so he kept on reading it. He stopped for a moment and stood over Daryl, then bent down to take a good look at his black eye. It was a beauty and Glenn felt sick to his stomach looking at it. _I did that, _he thought. He touched his own black eye gently with the tips of his fingers. Even touching it lightly was painful. He sat down and began reading again.

* * *

Rick checked the bank of batteries in the cellar to make sure they were adequately charged and was pleased to find that they had stored enough solar energy to easily get by for quite some time without recharging. He also checked to see if water was leaking in anywhere and once he was satisfied that the basement was watertight, he headed back upstairs.

Dale, Rick and Andrea went to bed early and Carol went to sit with Daryl for a while before she went to bed. Maggie and Glenn were playing Beatles Rock Band, something Glenn had been wanting to do for a long time and Carl and his mother were watching "The Goonies" DVD.

Rick climbed into his bed and closed his eyes. Hershel was coming the next day to check on Daryl and to pull him out of his deep sleep. They were all quite happy about that, but if Daryl woke up only to find himself in a lot of pain, none of them would hesitate to ask him if he'd let Hershel to sedate him again. Rick was quite sure, though, that Daryl wouldn't allow that.

* * *

Hershel arrived in the late morning with Beth and Patricia. The sky was clear and it was sunny and warm. Maggie greeted them all on the back porch with hugs and kisses on the cheek and Carl excitedly offered to show the two women the house and the changes that had been made to it by all of them.

Hershel was anxious to see how Daryl was doing and Maggie followed him up to the third floor. Hershel entered the living quarters room and looked Daryl over. "Someone cut his hair?" he looked concerned, "Is he going to be upset when he discovers that?"

Maggie looked at Daryl and nodded. "Probably. I think he's going to end up hating all of us before he's completely recovered."

Hershel smiled. He insisted on changing Daryl's dressing and was very happy with how well and how quickly he was healing. "This should be ready for stitches in another week or so, if he stays still enough to let it continue to heal." He checked Daryl's head wound which was almost completely healed and nodded. "Very good," he said to himself.

"Do you want me to disconnect the IV?" Maggie asked.

"Not just yet," Hershel answered as he pulled out a pair of surgical gloves and grabbed a clean basin from next to the sink. "but I do need to ask you to leave for a few moments. "

Maggie didn't question her father. "I'll be right outside the door. Just holler when you're done," she said as she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Hershel called her back in about ten minutes later. "You know, " he said to her, "you don't have to tell him about that. I think this is definitely a case of 'what he doesn't know won't hurt him', don't you?"

Maggie nodded, "No, I won't tell him. I think if he knew what you did he'd be so embarrassed that he'd just lie down and die. He was so embarrassed when he found out I had cleaned him up a couple days ago that I thought he was going to have a heart attack. I've never seen anyone turn so red in my life. "

Hershel sighed. Sometimes his daughter showed no discretion. "How did he find out about that? You told him, didn't you? "

"Yes. I thought he should know."

"And you saw his reaction. Let me ask you this. How did he behave towards you afterward? "

Maggie frowned. "He wouldn't talk to me." She said sadly, "He wouldn't even look at me. He was really, really upset and humiliated. I guess I just don't understand why."

Hershel's eyes got big. "You don't understand why? And here you've been acting like you know Daryl so well. I hardly know him at all but I certainly know how he feels about being touched. He's made that perfectly clear to everyone several times. If the man is so completely adverse to just a pat on the back why the heck would you think he'd be okay with you scrubbing him up, especially when he doesn't have a stitch of clothing on? You've seen before how easily embarrassed he is. I noticed that when I was stitching up the wound from his bolt weeks ago. He hated that I could see his scars. He was ashamed of them. "

Maggie looked at the floor. "I guess you're right. I just looked at it as doing something nice for him, you know, so he'd be more comfortable. Dried blood can be itchy and stinky."

Hershel sighed. "You have a point there, but my point is that you don't have to tell him these things if they'll bother him. He would have been just fine not knowing. Do you understand?"

"Yes Dad, I understand. "

"Glad to hear it. Now did the last IV you hung have the half dose of lorazepam in it?"

"Yes, and it s almost done running through."

"Good, go disconnect that IV. "

Maggie closed of the tubing and pulled the needle from the port in Daryl's arm. "Dad, I wanted to ask you about something that happened a couple of nights ago. I came in to change Daryl's dressing and he opened his eyes and was looking at me. "

"Did he say anything?" Hershel asked.

"No, not at all."

"That sometimes happens, " Hershel said, "Some people sleep with their eyes open and sometimes people will open their eyes when they're dreaming. People who sleepwalk open their eyes."

Maggie nodded. "I know, but in those cases, the eyes are staring straight ahead, like they aren't seeing anything. Daryl's eyes were following me. He was looking at me. It gave me the creeps. I thought he was awake and I shook him and I even pinched him really hard but he didn't react at all."

Hershel thought for a moment. "I've read about cases where people with head trauma or in a vegetative state will sometimes follow moving objects with their eyes when their brain waves indicate they're sleeping. It could just be a reaction to the head trauma he's endured. Hershel gently grasped Daryl's jaw and turned his head slightly so he could get a good look at his left eye. The bruise above and below it was black and purple. Glenn had hit him hard. Hershel opened Daryl's left eye. The cornea was red yet again. Hershel hadn't seen Glenn since he'd arrived at the house and wondered how his eye looked.

Maggie offered to sit with Daryl. She wanted to be there when he woke up.

"No, Maggie. I'll sit with him and if you want to send Carol up that's fine. I'm sure she'll be anxious to see Daryl once he's awake. Go on now."

"No, Dad. I want to be here. Glenn and Rick are out looking to see if they can locate another truck for us to use and looking for some windows for that chicken coop and goat shed we're going to build. I can stay right here. I don't have anything better to do."

"Maggie, that isn't the point. I think you pay way too much attention to this man and I don't like it. I'm not sure he does, either."

"We're friends, Dad, and I worry about him. C'mon! I promise I'll leave the minute he wakes up."

Hershel sighed. "Did I ever tell you that sometimes you're a real pain in the neck? A lovely pain in the neck, but a pain in the neck, nonetheless. Fine, fine. I'll go downstairs and see if I can grab something to eat, I'm starving. He probably won't come around for at least another half hour or so. I'll be back then. You remember, the minute he's awake you come and get me or get Carol and then leave him alone. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Dad. "

"Alright." Hershel left the room and Maggie seated herself next to Daryl and reached over and squeezed his hand. She wanted to talk and ramble on to him about anything and everything, but she stayed quiet. She sat back and opened the drawer in the bedside table. She was sure she'd gotten a glimpse of a book in there when she'd tossed some packages of gauze in it a couple days earlier. She moved the gauze packages and found the book. The Poetry of Robert Frost, the title proclaimed. She opened the book and started to read. She smiled as she read. She loved poetry. She'd had a boyfriend for a little while I college who'd written poetry to her and she had thought it was one of the most romantic things she'd ever experienced.

She read for about half an hour then put the book away.

Maggie slid her hand over Daryl's. She traced the star tattoo above his thumb with her fingernail and then traced the little heart above his wrist. She walked her fingers up his arm a little further and traced the other little star tattoo before walking her fingers back down his arm and circling the first star with her finger. She took note of every little scar, every scratch and cut on his forearm and his right hand. His hand was rough and calloused from hard work and pulling the string on the bow. She put her hand over it to compare how small hers was compared to his.

His hand twitched and his body jerked. Maggie held his hand. Daryl sighed and Maggie felt Daryl's fingers slide over the top of her hand and then he was grasping it in his. He didn't open his eyes and he mumbled something she couldn't understand. His grip on her hand loosened and he appeared to go back to sleep. She wanted to poke him or shake him, get him to fully wake up, but she knew she needed to let him shake off his body's desire for sleep at his own speed. He was still for a couple of minutes and she tried to slide her hand out from under his. She was surprised when he grasped it tightly. He dragged her hand slowly up to his lips and kissed the top of it. "Missed ya.. Lily," he mumbled. "Missed ya.. so much." He sighed and then his hand fell limply onto his chest as sleep claimed him again.

Maggie slid her hand out of his. Lily? Who the hell was Lily? She sat back in her chair. She realized then that she had no idea about what Daryl's life had been like before the apocalypse. Had he been engaged? Married? Did he have a family? Who did he lose? She knew he'd had a rough upbringing and it was obvious that he'd suffered physical abuse, but at whose hand and why? She also knew that Merle was all he had left of his family when he'd met up with Shane and his group before Rick showed up. That was about all she knew. He didn't talk about his past and if anyone had tried to ask about it, he shut them down. Lily. Was she a daughter? A sister? A wife? A fiance?

Daryl mumbled again and slowly opened his eyes. He looked at Maggie who sat there with a big, dumb grin on her face and he blinked. "What..." his voice was scratchy and hoarse, he licked his dry lips, "What...ya doin' here?"

Maggie grabbed the water bottle she'd pulled out of the refrigerator earlier and pulled the top open. She placed it in Daryl's shaky hand.

Damn, his mouth was so dry. He tilted the water bottle back and gave it a squeeze. The cool water felt so good as it wet his parched throat. Some of the water went down his trachea and he started to cough. Maggie was there in a second, slapping him on the back. Hard.

"Fer Christ sakes, " he croaked, "Jes' swallowed wrong. No need ta beat the hell outta me." He drank the rest of the water and laid his head back and closed his eyes. "Where's Hershel?"

Maggie smiled. Damn, it was good to hear his voice, even if it did sound hoarse and scratchy. "He's eating everything in the kitchen that he can get his hands on. I'll go get him. "

Daryl nodded, keeping his eyes closed.

Maggie got up to go get her father. "I'll be right back, " she called over her shoulder. She saw him nod, but he didn't open his eyes or speak to her again. 'Shit,' she thought, 'he's still mad at me.'

As she headed down the stairs to retrieve her father, she decided she was going to have to remedy that situation and fast.


	48. Chapter 48

Daryl was asleep again when Hershel entered the room. Maggie was right behind him and as he turned to speak to her, she scooted around him and sat herself down in the chair next to the bed. "Darn, he was awake just a minute ago," she said.

Hershel sighed. "Maggie. Get out," he said in his 'you're totally exasperating me' voice.

Maggie looked disappointed. "I don't see why I have to. I'm not hurting anyone."

"You told me less than an hour ago that Daryl is so uncomfortable around you now that he won't even look at you; now please stop being such a pest and go. I promise you, if Daryl asks for you I'll run and get you myself." 'but don't hold your breath', he thought.

Maggie pouted and got up to leave. "Okay. I'm going. Would you tell him I'm sorry? If you think it will make him feel better, you can tell him that I blushed half the time I was cleaning him up. Its true. I did."

"Maggie, I'm quite sure that incident is something Daryl would like to forget and I don't think bringing it up would be very wise. Now I will see you in a little while. Why don't you go watch a movie or read a book?"

Maggie shot one last look in Daryl's direction. He was still asleep. She sighed and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Hershel noticed that the oxygen had been shut off and that the tubing and the cannula were hanging off the canister's handle. He sat in the chair that Maggie had vacated and leaned forward. "Daryl?"

Daryl opened his eyes halfway. "Hey Doc," he said tiredly.

Hershel smiled and got up to get his stethoscope off the shelf near the sink. "How are you feeling?"

Daryl closed his eyes. "Tired. " He patted the top of the dressing on his wound and mumbled, "Damned cut itches inside now more an' it hurts."

"I'm sorry, son. It will itch as it heals. How is the pain? Is it better than it was? If it's bad we can probably do something for you."

Daryl rubbed his eyes. "Ain't too bad. You changed your mind 'bout puttin' me to sleep for a couple a days? Chinaman, I mean Glenn threw the first punch you know."

Hershel smiled. "Daryl, I didn't change my mind."

"Well I did. Decided I don't want you to do it."

Hershel laughed.

Daryl narrowed his eyes and glared at the older man as he laughed. "The fuck's so funny?"

Hershel stopped laughing and cleared his throat. "I'm sorry. I said I didn't change my mind, son, and I didn't. Past tense. You've been asleep for the last two and a half days."

"Bullshit," Daryl snorted. "You set that shit you got goin' inta me up so I'd wake up two, three times a day. I was up earlier this mornin'."

Hershel leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms. "It may seem like that to you. When a person is under sedation, time ceases to exist to them. Its like being in a coma. You go to sleep and you wake up and feel like little to no time has passed. "

Daryl rubbed his chin. He definitely had more facial hair than he recalled having before his 'nap'. Now he was getting mad. "What the hell?! I know you'd talked a bit 'bout it, but I can't believe you went and did it without tellin' me! "

It was Hershel's turn to glare at Daryl. "I made the choice to do it after I came in here and you were lying flat on your back with a swollen and bruised left eye because you'd been brawling like a drunken sailor."

"Weren't me that started it! Ask your future son in law, he'll tell you. He threw the first punch!"

Hershel exercised his better judgment and held his tongue.

Daryl lowered his head. "Guess what's done is done." He was quietly in thought for a moment, then realization crept across his face. " ...but if I was sleepin', how…did I...?... I couldn't get up to...Did you...? Shit, I don' even wanna know."

He looked down at his bandaged wound and frowned as he grasped the edges of the T-shirt Maggie had cut up the middle. He looked at Hershel. "What th' hell? Did I turn all green an' get really big an' go on some sort a rampage?"

Hershel suppressed a smile. "Maggie thought it was easier than trying to get it off over your head and messing with the IV tubing. "

Daryl ran his fingers up the cut edges of his t-shirt and inspected it . "She did, eh?" He smirked. "How's that knife cut a' hers? 'S it healin' okay?"

Hershel didn't know whether to be touched that Daryl had asked about Maggie's injury or worried . "Its healing quite well. The knife was very sharp and made a nice clean cut. No ragged edges."

Daryl nodded. "Had that knife for years. Always keep it sharp." He paused for a moment. "Think she'd want it?"

Hershel looked at Daryl with surprise. "What? Why? You just said you've had it for years! Why would you want to give it to my daughter?"

"Cuz I can't keep it knowin' it spilled 'er blood. I ain't touchin' it again. I'd be cleanin' it all the damned time, tryin' to make sure there wan't a fuckin' molecule a' her blood on it." His eyes met Hershel's and he continued, "An' I'd think about Shane hurtin' her with it ever' time I pulled it out to use it. That's a distraction could get me killed and despite all the shit I've been rollin' 'round in lately, I ain't quite ready to die."

Daryl swung his legs over and swung around so he was sitting on the edge of the bed. He hopped down and his legs shook as he worked to keep on his feet. Hershel stood up and put his hand on Daryl's shoulder to steady him. Daryl jerked away violently from his touch and stood on shaky legs. "I'm good," he snapped, "jes' a lil' rusty." Hershel looked shocked and Daryl suddenly felt like the world's biggest jerk. "I'm sorry Doc. I jes' din't expect that."

Hershel gave Daryl a sad smile. "I know. I should have thought first, but I was afraid you might fall. At least you didn't haul off and hit me."

Daryl took a deep breath and slowly moved his legs. His muscles cramped and his knees popped and cracked as he made his way towards the bathroom. His legs felt weak under him and protested every step he took, threatening to give out beneath his weight and send him down onto the floor in a humiliated heap. Had Hershel really drugged him so that he'd been sleeping the last couple of days without waking? His dry mouth and empty stomach that now rumbled and complained seemed to indicate that Hershel had indeed followed through with his threat to 'dope him up with something good that would knock him out for days' if he didn't 'behave'. He closed the bathroom door behind him and muttered to himself, "It ain't right. It just ain't right."

"Well, dummy, if ya'd used that airbag atop your shoulders that you call a head and hadn't been flirtin' with Farmer's daughter, 'ol slanty eyes wouldn't a hit you. An' jes' what the hell's that all about? You let a chink give you a shiner like that? You ought to be' shamed a yourself. An' you call yourself a Dixon. Dixon's don't git punched out by chinks, Darleena."

"Fuck you, I wan't expectin' it. Din't think the kid had the balls to do somethin' like that."

"Are you okay in there?" Daryl heard Hershel ask from the other side of the door.

"I'm fine, be out in a couple minutes," he called out loudly before mumbling, "Can't I even take a piss in peace?"

He stood at the sink to wash his hands. When he happened to glance up into the mirror his eyes grew wide. His hair had been cut. He reached his hands up and ran them through his hair. Whoever had cut it had done a good job and hadn't cut it too short. It was just a trimmed up version of what his hair had been when he last had looked in the mirror. Still, it was a bit unsettling to think that someone had cut his hair while he was asleep and that they had actually been able to do it without waking him up. He turned his head to check out the side views. He had no idea who might have done it. He knew it was one of the women. In the last month Andrea, Maggie and Carol had all expressed a desire to cut his hair for him. He sighed. He wasn't sure if he should thank whoever did it or yell at them. Maybe he'd do both. He leaned over the sink closer to the mirror and examined his black eye. He decided that it was probably just past full bloom and the edges were turning a sickly brownish pink color. The center of the bruised area was still black/purple.

Daryl sighed. He raised his left arm and stretched his torso to look at his damaged body in the mirror. His broken ribs protested this motion and he grimaced and lowered his arm quickly. He laughed a bitter laugh. He was covered with multicolored bruises; the older ones fading and decorating him in various shades of tan, yellow, pink and muddy green, the newer ones red, black, purple and blue. There were two dark purple/black foot shaped bruises partially covered by the bandage over his wound and there was extensive bruising around that general area. He smirked. Even his groin was bruised. The bruises and the scars complimented each other as they combined to tell a story of violence and pain.

"Ya look like hell, baby brother," Imaginary Merle stated. "Jes' lookit your ugly, banged up self!"

"Ain't you the master a the obvious." Daryl washed his face. He yelped when he accidentally rubbed the washcloth over his left eyelid harder than he meant to. "Fuck! That hurt!"

"Awwww, ya gonna cry now like a lil' girl, Darleena? You don't know what pain is. i cut my own fuckin' hand off.."

"You like to bring up that cuttin' off your hand incident a lot. Well, I figured somethin' out. You're pissed off at yourself 'bout it 'cause if you'd waited for me, you 'd still have your hand. Fuckin' impatient dumb ass. You blame Rick an' T-Dog but they ain't the ones that sawed off your hand, are they? An you're wrong, I sure as hell know what pain is; prolly better n' you do, so fuck off. I ain't up for your bullying right yet."

"Are you okay ?" Hershel's voice came through the bathroom door yet again.

Damn, was the man standing there and listening? "I'm fine, and I don't need no audience. Guess I was wrong in thinkin' I'd have some privacy in this room."

"I thought I heard you talking to someone." Hershel answered from behind the door.

"Ain't no one in here but me." Daryl answered. His legs were still feeling a bit rubbery and he held on to the vanity to steady himself. The wound under the dressing ached and itched something awful. It itched more than it hurt and the itching was driving him nuts. He'd have to ask Hershel if he had something, anything, that he could do for the itching. He could just see himself going completely wacko and ripping off the dressing and scratching the hell out of that damned itchy spot with both hands.

Daryl waited until his legs felt a little more solid beneath him and gingerly made his way out of the bathroom and across the room. Hershel handed him a clean t-shirt and Daryl sat on the edge of the bed and slipped out of the ruined one and then pulled the clean one on over his head. "See'in as I ain't a responsible adult or nothin', I'll ask; 'm I allowed to stay in my own room now?"

"You're so sarcastic. No wonder Maggie gets along well with you. Yes, you can, but we need to talk about pain management first and I want your word that you'll stay put for a week. You really need to for longer than that, but I'm not looking for a miracle. I want your word."

Daryl studied Hershel and his almost pleading expression. "How do you know my word is any good?"

"Because a man is only as good as his word. You're a stubborn pain in the ass, but you're a good man. The fact that you went against your desire to get away from the people now infesting this house and invited them in because you knew they'd be safer is testimony to the fact that you're a good man. "

Daryl offered up a partial smile. "Even though I'm a pain in the ass?"

Hershel smiled and nodded. "Even though you're a stubborn pain in the ass. I'm not trying to be the bad guy or the killjoy here, I just want you to let your body rest. You're still anemic and that open wound is going to take time to heal."

"I was doin' what you asked me to 'til fuckin' Bluto the Bald kicked the livin' shit outta me." Daryl complained. "Had no idea he'd do that."

"I don't recall asking you to take a motorcycle ride, do you?"

Daryl looked at his feet. "Guess not. Have a hard time followin' doctor's orders. Always have."

Hershel sighed. "Okay, okay. Just promise me you won't go off on that damned motorcycle of yours and no gallivanting into the woods, either. You really need to let this heal. Your body has been traumatized enough over such a short period of time. You can't afford to get injured again. If there's a next time and if it comes soon, I can almost guarantee you that I won't be able to save you. Please don't put me in that position."

Daryl hadn't thought of it that way. "Ya have my word. I'll sit tight 'til you tell me I don't hafta anymore. Now can you do anythin' about this damned thing itchin? 'S drivin' me fuckin' nuts."

"If it itches it means it's healing. I can probably soak the gauze in an antihistamine solution before packing the wound next time."

Daryl nodded. Now that he knew that relief would be forthcoming, he could deal with the discomfort and wait. He decided to stay where he was until the next bandage and packing change so Hershel or Maggie wouldn't have to lug supplies down to his room. Daryl asked Hershel if he could try to manage the pain with OTC medications for now and if he needed to step up to something stronger, he'd let him know. Hershel agreed and after poking and prodding and making sure that Daryl's temperature, blood pressure, heart rate and every other little thing was okay, he left. Daryl took two Tylenol tablets and pulled the Robert Frost poetry book he'd seen in the bedside table drawer out to read.

He'd been reading for about twenty minutes when there was a knock on the door casing. He looked up and saw Andrea standing in the doorway. She had a big smile on her face and was holding one of her hands behind her back. "Can I come in."

Daryl closed the book and set it in his lap. "That depends, " he said meeting the gaze of her blue eyes with his own.

"On what?" Andrea asked, looking confused.

"On what it is you're hidin' behind your back, 'cause if it's a rifle and you're plannin' on shootin' me again', you can jes' leave now."

Andrea rolled her eyes and frowned. "I thought you said you'd forgiven me for that."

Daryl nodded, "I have, I can forgive but I can't forget. Another Dixon curse, you know. 'Cept with Merle. Merle don't hardly know how to forgive."

"Fuck you baby brother. Ah ain't never gonna forgive ya fer sayin' that." joked Imaginary Merle.

Andrea smiled and pulled her hand out from behind her back and held it's contents out to Daryl. "Tada!" she said triumphantly.

Daryl's face lit up. "Well ain't you jes' a fair haired angel! How'd you know?"

Andrea crossed the room and put the two cans of Chef Boyardee ravioli's on Daryl's lap, then reached into one of the rear pockets of her jeans and pulled out a fork and handed it to him. "I know you love this crap." She said with a smile. "Fair haired angel, huh?"

"It ain't crap. See? Says right here on the can, ½ cup a vegetables per servin' an' there's two servin's in this here can. Why I gotta always 'splain this shit to y'all?" He cracked a can open and licked off the underside of the lid then tossed it into the small garbage can next to the bed.

Andrea reached in her front pocket and pulled out a couple of folded paper towels and handed them to him. He thanked her. "I was going to heat that up for you, but Glenn said you like it at room temperature." She picked up the book from his lap and read the cover. "Robert Frost? I didn't take you for a poetry fan, Dixon." she said.

"There's lots 'bout me none a' you know" he said, and he popped a forkful of ravioli into his mouth. "An I like it that way." he said with his mouth full.

Andrea was intrigued and curious, "So do you have any favorite poets? Is Frost one of them? I love Robert Frost's poetry,

'A voice said, Look me in the stars

And tell me truly, men of earth,

If all the soul-and-body scars

Were not too much to pay for birth.'"

She put her hand over her mouth and stepped back a step, she hadn't been thinking at all. She was sure she had offended him and she hadn't meant to at all. Soul and body scars. Daryl had an abundance of both. She awaited the explosion that she knew was coming.

Daryl had been concentrating on freeing one of the final raviolis desperately clinging to the inside of the can when she recited the poem and he brought his eyes up and stared at her.

His blue eyes seemed to cut right through her and she had an apology on the tip of her tongue when he said, "I know that one. 'A Question'. My answer? Sometimes. Yours?"

Andrea was taken aback. Daryl Dixon knew Robert Frost's poem 'A Question'? The man really was full of surprises. "My answer is 'yes'. I know it wasn't a few months ago, but now it is a definite 'yes'." She paused and then asked, "Do you have a favorite poet?" Daryl snorted. "Never thought a that. I like Poe, John Milton. I guess if I had to choose, I'd say E.E. Cummings. Man was a fuckin' genius. A smile played at the corners of his mouth but he held it in check. He cocked an eyebrow and cleared his throat and then recited from memory,

"'the boys i mean are not refined

they go with girls who buck and bite

they do not give a fuck for luck

they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit

one carves a cross on her behind

they do not give a shit for wit

the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck

who cannot read and cannot write

who laugh like they would fall apart

and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined

they cannot chat of that and this

they do not give a fart for art

they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind

they do whatever's in their pants

the boys i mean are not refined

they shake the mountains when they dance'"

Andrea put her hand over her mouth. She had a shocked expression on her face.

Daryl couldn't help it. He laughed. "Aw c'mon, you can't tell me you ain't never heard that one before."

Andrea was speechless for a moment. When she regained her composure she said, "No, I can't say that I have. And I've certainly never heard a poem read straight from the horse's mouth like that."

Daryl raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Well, shit, Blondie, I don't know if that should make me feel honored 'r insulted."

They were both quiet for a moment and Daryl popped the top off the second can of raviolis. Andrea got up and went to one of the refrigerators and came back with a bottle of water for Daryl. "You don't have to wait on me, you know. I ain't King Shit or nothin.'"

Andrea giggled. "King Shit? Never heard of him. Just take the water. It's the least I can do for you. You've done so much for us."

Daryl's face reddened and Andrea noticed that he suddenly looked uncomfortable. He fidgeted a bit and she decided she wouldn't tell him how much she appreciated the comfortable bed and the feeling of safety and contentment and hope this house gave her and that it was all because of him. She wanted to tell him these things, but she didn't think he was ready to hear them. She smiled when she imagined telling him these things only to have him jump up and run from the room waving his arms and screaming like a crazed cartoon character.

She raised her eyes to look at him again and he was staring at her. Staring with those beautiful baby blue eyes. He narrowed them at her and she felt herself become tense.

"You did it! You're the one, ain't cha!" he exclaimed.

"Did what?" she asked wide eyed.

Daryl snorted. "Aw...don' go givin' me that 'who, me?' innocent routine. I know t'was you. "

Andrea looked perplexed. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You cut my hair! Twas you, I know it! Jus' admit it. You did it. You know you did. Ain't you ever heard that confession 's good for your soul? "

Andrea got down on her knees next to the bed. She smiled at Daryl and then bowed her head and said, "Forgive me Father Dixon for I have sinned. I cut the hair from off thy head when thou wast sleeping."

Daryl snorted. "You're nuttier than I thought. I'll admit, I was pissed off at first, but you did a really good job an' I was way overdue for one, so thank you."

Andrea widened her eyes and said, "Did you just thank me for cutting your hair?"

Daryl feigned a look of surprise. "What? Me? Thank you? Hell no. Musta been my evil twin."

"You cut that out!"

Daryl shrugged and said, "One thing Blondie, next time you decide to play barber wait 'til I'm awake. Jes' thinkin' a you doin' it when I was sleepin' sorta creeps me out." He closed his eyes and leaned back a bit and took a deep breath.

"Are you okay? Does it hurt?"

Daryl kept his eyes closed and nodded. "It's okay, just gotta push it down and it'll be fine. "

Andrea sat quietly with Daryl for another ten minutes. The pain receeded and he relaxed. He'd finished off two cans of raviolis and a liter of water and Andrea watched with amusement as he silently fought sleep. "Can't stay awake?" she asked him quietly.

"So damned tired." he yawned. "This is ridiculous. I slept for the last two fuckin' days."

"Your body needs lots of rest when you're healing," Andrea said, "sleep is probably the best thing for you at this point."

"'S 'at so?" Daryl mumbled as he fought to keep his eyes open.

Andrea stood up and left after Daryl fell asleep. She was happy that she'd had a chance to talk with him and that he hadn't been too upset about her cutting his hair and that he'd actually thanked her. She sighed. He could be so sweet. She hadn't thought he'd had it in him. She'd taken the first step in becoming friends with Daryl and her plan was moving along right on schedule.


	49. Chapter 49

"Daryl?"

The voice sounded so far away.

"Daryl? Are you awake?"

Fuck, no he wasn't awake and he didn't want to wake up. He silently hoped the voice would shut up and go away.

"Daryl?!" Someone grabbed his shoulder and was shaking it. Dammit all to hell.

He slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to confront his tormentor. Carol quickly released his shoulder and smiled down at him. "Oh, good, you're awake."

Daryl yawned and gave Carol an icy glare. "Yeah, I tend to wake up when someone's yellin' my name an' shakin' me. What the hell do you want?"

"Still grumpy, I see. I brought you some cookies and a glass of milk."

Daryl groaned and sat up. He rubbed his eyes and continued to glare at Carol, narrowing his eyes. "You woke me from a sound sleep to tell me you brung me cookies?"

Carol shrugged. "Yes, I guess so."

"What kind of cookies?" he asked.

"Chocolate chip." She offered him a small plate with four cookies on it and pointed to the glass of milk on his bedside table. "We've all missed you." she said.

Daryl snorted. "Missed me? Bullshit, an I din't go nowhere."

"You left the farm and we've hardly been able to see you since we got here. We missed your presence among us. You know, seeing you around, talking to you, ..."

Daryl shoved a cookie into his mouth as the bullshit started to pile up. The cookie was pretty good.

Carol continued, "hearing you recite poetry.."

Daryl reached for the milk and drank half of it to wash down the cookie.

"Recite poetry?" he asked cautiously.

Carol raised her eyebrows and grinned. "Andrea was quite impressed."

Daryl took a bite out of cookie #2. "Girl's got a big mouth." he grumbled with his mouth full.

"She didn't tell me. I overheard her talking to Maggie. Thy both sounded giddy. If I didn't know better, I'd say they both were smitten."

Daryl sighed. "You're readin' into things. No one's 'smittin' with anyone, 'specially not me. The poem i said ain't very nice, neither." The rest of cookie #2 disappeared.

Carol leaned forward and said, "Daryl, the thought of poetry coming out of your mouth is mind-boggling to me."

Daryl smirked. Wasn't this just typical. "What, ya'll think I'm fuckin' backwoods 'Deliverance' stock n' don't know shit 'bout literature an' stuff? You think the only poetry I'd know would start with 'there once was a man from Nantucket'?" He knew that the others all thought he was stupid, but to have Carol come right out and express that she did, too, was a bit disappointing.

Carol shook her head, "No, no, no...not at all! That isn't what I meant!"

Daryl waved a hand at her as if to dismiss her protesting. "S' okay. I ain't as offended as I am amused. Y'all know I don' give a flyin' fuck what y'all think a me." He tossed cookie #3 into his mouth. "Did you make these?" he said with his mouth full. "They're good."

"I wish I could take the credit, but Maggie made them." Carol sat back in the chair. "And all I meant was that that it must have been lovely to hear you, your voice, reciting something poetic. I didn't mean it to be insulting or mocking in any way."

Daryl was silent and resisted the urge to say "bullshit".

The silence made Carol uncomfortable. She cleared her throat and pointed to Daryl's face. "That's quite the black eye you've got there. Funny thing, you know, Glenn has one, too." Daryl was watching her now with those ice blue eyes like a cat would watch a mouse it was getting ready to pounce on. It made Carol even more uncomfortable, but she continued nonetheless. "Rumor has it that Glenn thought you were putting the moves on Maggie and you two fought. Is that how it happened?"

Daryl broke from his stare to pop the last cookie in his mouth and then the cat to mouse stare was back. "Don't know what you're talkin' 'bout an' don't wanna know. World 'd be a better place if people minded their own damn business, 'stead a gossipin' n' spreadin' stories."

Carol's cheeks got a little red but Daryl didn't care. He hated being the topic of conversation and the thought of everyone sitting around and speculating about his little one for one with Glenn bothered him.

They were both quiet for a moment and then Carol said, "I still think we need to talk about .."

"Am I fuckin' invisible? Does no one hear a thing I say? No. No, no and no. I don't wanna hear 'nother word. I feel bad 'nuff 'bout it as it is. You know that. I asked you not to bring it up, I aint ready to discuss it. Shit, I even said 'please'." He placed the empty plate on the bedside table next to the empty glass and before Carol could reply he said, "Thanks for stoppin' in."

Carol looked surprised. Had Daryl just dismissed her?

"Daryl," she said. "I don't..."

Daryl interrupted her. "Maybe I'm bein' rude an' all, but I'm tired an' I just don't feel up to havin' visitors an' I sure as shit don' feel like arguin' with anyone. I'm sure you got better things to do than to sit with my dumb ass as well."

Carol didn't mean to, but the 'humph" was out of her mouth before she could stop it and she gave Daryl a look like one would give an ungrateful child. She stood up without a word and turned to leave.

"An Carol, thanks for the cookies." Daryl sighed once she'd left the room. Now he'd managed to get Carol, one of his staunchest supporters, pissed off. It was a mistake to invite all these people to move in. Things would be so much easier if he was by himself. Back when he and Merle were together, just the two of them, things had been just fine.

He couldn't stay here, but Daryl knew he couldn't leave just yet. He had to heal first and his strength back. He could stand to gain a bit of weight, too. If the group didn't drive him completely nuts, he would stay through to spring and then be on his way. He really liked this house and his room and the feeling of security it gave him, but he couldn't stay; not with all these people poking and prodding into his business under the guise of caring for him.

He reached down between the nightstand and the bed and brought up his crossbow. He set it across his lap and ran his fingers along the stock and up the railing. As much as he loved the Blackhawks, this would always be his favorite weapon. He couldn't wait until he could get outside and start using it again.

There was another knock on the door casing Daryl jumped. Dale walked in. "I thought you might like some company... "

Daryl sighed.

Daryl sat on the edge of the bed and took a deep breath. In the last hour and a half he'd been 'visited' by Andrea, Carol and Dale and he was sick of visitors and people in general. He wanted to go to his own room but he had told Hershel he'd stay where he was until his next dressing change was done. The pain had been increasing steadily for the last half hour and he fumbled in the nightstand drawer until he found what he was looking for. He took another two Tylenol tablets out of the bottle he'd just retrieved and after making sure that they were, in fact, Tylenol tablets, he washed them down with bottled water.

He wanted to be alone now and wasn't feeling up to any more small talk with anyone. It wasn't that he was antisocial and didn't like people in general...okay, he was antisocial and he didn't like people in general. That was just how he was. Everyone he'd ever cared about when he was growing up and into young adulthood had ended up hurting or abandoning him or both. He had come to the conclusion that other people just weren't worth his time and effort and had hardened his mind and his heart. It was safer that way.

Daryl stood up and held on to the bed with his left hand. It took him a few seconds to steady himself, then he quietly walked to the door of the room and peeked into the war room. No one was there. He sauntered through the war room as quietly as he could and then stopped and listened for any activity coming from the hallway. Everything was quiet. He slowly eased himself out into the hallway as he glanced up and down the hall nervously. The coast appeared to be clear, so he flattened himself against the hallway wall and using it to help support himself, he moved along it, across the door opening to the game room and down to his second favorite room in the house. He stopped in front of it and put his ear to the door. Hearing no noise coming from behind the door, he opened it and slipped inside, closing it behind him.

No one was in the room. No one human, anyway. Daryl looked around the room at the collection of animals and fish and hunting and fishing paraphernalia. This room was just amazing. Wait. One of the bobcats was missing. The skunk was, too. What the hell? Daryl smirked. Maybe Carl had pilfered them for his room. He couldn't really blame the kid, but dammit, those things belonged in this room. Or in his own bedroom, he decided. He grabbed a red and brown Aztec print wool throw blanket that covered the back of one of the couches. He wished he'd worn slippers or socks because his feet were freezing. Daryl lowered himself into a big leather recliner and eased the chair back, extending the footrest and arranged his legs on it. The chair smelled of leather and cigars and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. It was like perfume to him. Such comforting scents. Daryl spread the blanket out over him and wrapped it around his legs, making sure his feet were covered.

"You all nice and comfy now, Darleena? Maybe you'd like me to get you a pillow? Rub your feet? Pat ya on the head an' tell you what a good boy you are?" Imaginary Merle sounded disgusted. "You're gettin' soft. Layin' aroun' in this big ol' house doin' nothin', ya lazy piece a shit."

"Fuck's sake, I got fuckin' hurt, dammit! You think I like bein' out a the game like this?" Daryl grumbled. After being lost in thought for a moment, he said, "Wish I knew if you was dead or alive."

"Would it matter? Ain't like you been lookin' for your big brother now, is it? You jes' don' care about ol' Merle like I care for you."

"You never cared for me, and you coulda.."

"You know I do." Interrupted Imaginary Merle. "Saved your ass plenty a times. You'd been dead years ago weren't for me."

Daryl closed his eyes. Merle had saved his ass on a few of occasions, but truth be told, Merle had been responsible in part for Daryl being in all but one of those life threatening situations to begin with.

Imaginary Merle continued to rant in Daryl's head. "I'm the only one that'll ever care for you, the only one. Doncha forget that baby brother."

That was bullshit. Hershel had been taking care of him. Maggie had been taking care of him. He would've been dead a couple times over if it hadn't been for the two Greenes and he knew it.

Daryl smiled to himself. Fuckin' Maggie and her constantly running sarcastic mouth and her grabby, cookie making hands. He hadn't realized it until just then, but she probably had taken care of him more than anyone else ever had. She had saved his life, she'd worried about him, she'd looked out for him,(he hadn't thought to remove the bullets from his Blackhawks and Shane would have blown his head off if they'd been loaded) she'd talked to him and listened to him. She'd washed him up when he was covered with blood and he couldn't do it himself and she'd slept next to him, solely to assure herself that he was okay. She really cared about him. She'd been there with pain meds when he needed them and softly spoken reassuring words. Of course, she'd teased the hell out of him, too.

He loved her and he hated her for what she'd done for him.

Daryl hated feeling weak, he hated needing to be looked after and taken care of by others. He hated not being completely self reliant. He felt like less of a man and a failure. He'd failed to properly defend himself from Shane's attacks and he was now suffering the consequences as were the people wasting their time looking after him.

He was sure that Hershel resented him. It was a major inconvenience, he was sure, for Hershel to make the trip from the farm out to the lake house to check on his stupid ass.

Maggie was mad at him now and he was sure she resented having to change that damned dressing. He had insulted her and treated her like shit in exchange for all she had done for him. Dammit, though, she was acting like they were friends or something and he had to put a stop to that. Yes, he had actually encouraged her, too, by being friendly and talking with her about things he didn't generally speak of. He was sure that she must have found his sudden hostility towards her confusing. He was such a dick, but it was better for everyone that way. If you weren't emotionally involved, you didn't get hurt. It was just that simple.

Daryl glanced around the room. The deer heads and the other animals gazed at him with their shiny glass eyes. He closed his eyes tightly and grit his teeth as a sharp pain where his dressing was sliced through him. He pushed it down, he could handle this, he was a Dixon, dammit. The pain subsided and he sighed. He shifted in the recliner and it hit him again, harder this time and he gasped involuntarily. Shit, that hurt. The pain intensified and got worse and worse until he thought he wouldn't be able to stand it any longer. No, the Tylenol wasn't going to cut it. Fuck it, he deserved this. He'd use it as a reminder not to fuck up next time. It would be his penance for treating Maggie like shit, for not keeping his guard up with Shane, for being a burden and not listening to Hershel. Maybe it would teach him a lesson. He curled up on his right side and held his wounded area with both hands. He felt weak and pathetic and it hurt so bad. Was his pain threshold that low now? Surely he could ride this out, push it down further. He concentrated on his breathing and tried to ignore the pain. Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out.

"Whats the breathin' shit here 'bout? You havin' a baby, Darleena?"

Daryl giggled and gasped as the pain caught him off guard. "Shudup, Merle, I'm concentratin.'"

"You're constipated? You never did eat 'nuff vegetables."

Daryl giggled again, then gasped. "Concentratin' ya fucktard, this hurts somethin' fierce." Fuckin' Imaginary Merle was going to be the death of him.

"I know you can handle it baby brother. You know you've had worse. Just grit your teeth and bear it." Encouraged Imaginary Merle.

Daryl did. He stuck the knuckle of his first finger into his mouth and bit down on it, not enough to draw blood, but enough to hurt. It drew some of his attention off the pain in his side.

"'Course, you could rub them two brain cells you got left together an' use 'em. Take somethin' to make the pain go 'way, ya fuckin'dummy."

There was a knock on the door. Daryl didn't say anything and tried to quiet his breathing. "Dixon, are you in there?" Maggie's voice called through the door. Daryl rolled his eyes and grimaced as the pain continued to kick at him.

"Daryl?"

He still didn't answer. He just wanted to be left alone. Why couldn't anyone get that through their thick head? He heard the door open and he heard her footsteps as she walked across the hardwood floor towards where he lay curled up in the recliner, covered with the wool blanket and with his back to her. "Daryl?" She reached out and put her hand on his shoulder and he jumped. He hadn't expected that. Maggie jumped back and a surprised little shriek left her mouth. She stepped closer to him and put her hand on his shoulder again. "Damn, you scared me. I thought you were sleeping." She felt his body slightly trembling beneath her hand and she frowned. "It's bad, isn't it?"

He didn't answer her, so she came around to the other side of the chair so she could see his face. His eyes were closed and his teeth were clenched and he had started to sweat. She knelt down so she was face to face with him. "Hey, Tiger," she said softly, "I know you're mad at me about something and I'm pretty pissed off at you, too, but there is no reason for you to suffer like this. I can give you something that will make it better."

Daryl wouldn't open his eyes. He did not want to look at her or at anything for that matter. "M' fine," he said through clenched teeth. "Jes' go 'way. Leave me alone."

Maggie sighed and he heard her stand and then he heard her footsteps as she left the room and closed the door.

Well, that was easier than he thought it would be. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead and he could feel the back of his neck and his chest getting wet with sweat. He tossed the wool blanket off and wrapped his arms around himself, carefully avoiding the area that was causing all the trouble. Why did it hurt so damned much? Hershel said it was healing. It still itched, but it hurt more than it itched now. Daryl thought it would be easier to handle the pain than the itching, but now he wondered if he had been wrong. He listened to the tick of the clock on the wall as he concentrated on breathing. It didn't seem to be helping. Should he let Maggie give him something? No. He was going to be an idiot and ride this out. It had to get better, right? He heard the door open again and Maggie's footsteps as she crossed the floor towards him.

"I need to change your bandage and the packing," she said. "I can do it here, if you don't want to come down the hall with me." She could see his body shaking now, more than it had been and the hair on the back of his neck was matted down with sweat. Why would he allow himself to go through this when he didn't have to? Was he some sort of masochist? "Daryl, please. A packed incision hurts like hell. Don't do this to yourself. Let me help you."

"Don't need no help", he grumbled and Maggie jumped when his breath hitched suddenly.

"You're a stubborn ass, Dixon," she said.

He knew that. He felt a sharp prick on the back of his left shoulder and flinched away from it. "What th' hell!?"

He heard Maggie's voice whisper in his ear, "I'm sorry, Tiger, but I can't let you do this to yourself. "

His head swam and the pain started to recede. Shit, whatever she'd given him worked fast. He tried to shift over onto his back but it was like his arms and legs had turned to lead. She came around the chair and knelt down again to face him.

She smiled at him and reached her hand out and caressed his cheek. "You're so stubborn, but it kills me to see you in pain, especially when you don't have to be. Just relax, you're going to take a little catnap Ti Ti and I'm going to repack your dressing."

Ti Ti? Was she fuckin' serious? "Stop.. touchin' me." Daryl mumbled. "An' don'... call me..." His eyelids were getting heavy and the pain was all but gone.

"I have to touch you to clean out your big boo boo," he heard her say from far away. He felt her hands on him pushing at his shoulder and then tugging at his belt on his left side as she tried to roll him onto his back.

"Stop," he whispered. He felt his left arm being moved and bent and his left hand was placed across his chest. His shirt was pulled up gently to expose the bandaged wound.

"Shhhhhhh." Maggie whispered back. "Just relax and let Maggie take care of you."

Daryl succumbed to his body's desire to sleep as Maggie tore the top dressing off and then started to extract the packing from the open wound. It was just as gunky and disgusting looking as it had been before but the hole was noticeably smaller. Daryl was healing well. She rinsed the wound and swabbed it and then soaked fresh gauze in a mixture of sterile water and a powdered antihistamine. She packed the gauze into the open wound and put a border dressing on top. She placed a clear waterproof patch on top of the border dressing. The whole process took about fifteen minutes.

Daryl groaned and shifted in the chair. Maggie pulled Daryl's shirt down over the bandage and leaned down over his face. "See how well that worked? It's only been about fifteen minutes and I'm all done and you'll be wide awake in just a minute. I was right to give that sodium pentothal a try."

Daryl kept his eyes closed but Maggie saw the corners up his lips turn up into a small smile. "Ain't that the shit they use to execute pris'ners?"

"They used to use it for that. That and putting animals to sleep." She admitted.

"I piss you off so much you wanna kill me? Bring the Daryl Dixon fan club started by Shane Walsh back?"

The smile was still there. Maggie grinned. He was talking to her, fooling with her. That was a step in the right direction. "No. I'm a bit upset with you, but not enough to want to kill your stubborn ass. Sodium pentothal is also used as a truth serum, lets see if it works, shall we?"

Daryl "pfffted" at her. "Movie bullshit. Go 'head, ask me somethin' an' I'll lie. Show you it's bullshit."

"Fine." Maggie sat on the couch across from the chair. "Why are you mad at me."

"Ain't mad at you. Just don't like getting' close to people. They get hurt, I get hurt, ain't worth it. Just tryin' to run you off afore that happens."

Maggie nodded and looked into Daryl's eyes. What she read there indicated that he wasn't lying.

"That sounded like a truthful answer to me."

He nodded. "Guess it was. Maybe you're right. Okay, try another."

Maggie leaned forward and studied his face. He furrowed his brow and looked down at his stomach for a second and she could tell the pain was starting to come back. The drug she'd used was only good for short term sedation when you used the proper dosage. She cleared her throat and said, "Okay. ….who is Lily?"


	50. Chapter 50

**WARNING: There is naughty sex in this chapter. This is my first attempt at writing sex so give me a break. If you don't like that sort of thing, please skip the italicized part of the story. This chapter is huge! I'm talking really really long! You might want to just read half of it and read the rest later. Just sayin' With all the speculation about Lily, I have to reiterate that this story is not a romance. If you've read this far and this disappoints you, I'm sorry. The good news is that Fan Fiction is chock full of Walking Dead romance stories so you have a gazillion of them to choose from! I'm not a big romance fan, but I've found a couple of them that I just love. (:ahem: Polar :ahem: Blizzard :cough cough:) **

Rick and Dale were almost finished installing a gate in the chain link fence. The new gate was placed where the first gate had been, the one that had been moved over near the driveway. The gate panel had been found while Rick explored the storage area above the garage. There were several other chain link fence panels stored there as well, along with several coils of razor sharp barbed wire. Rick had looked at the barbed wire and cringed. The operatives at Looking Glass Base would have placed the barbed wire along the top of the fence once the dead started walking. It was obvious, too that the wire was meant to keep other people out and not the walkers. Rick contemplated putting the razor wire up along the top of the fence. If there was a military group out there trying to make their way to the base, he doubted that they'd be happy to find Rick and his group of survivors occupying the place. It wouldn't be hard for invaders to just climb the fence and if they were a well armed group and caught Rick and the others off guard, well, that wouldn't turn out very well, would it?

He wondered if maybe he should enlist Glenn's help, too, and run the wire across the top of the fence before taking the exploratory trip around to the other side of the lake. They would need some heavy gloves in order to keep the wire from cutting them.

Rick sighed. This was another one of those times where Shane's physical strength and endurance would have come in handy. He had nothing against Glenn and Dale, but Shane and Daryl were both stronger and a lot less clumsy than Glenn and Dale were. Daryl was in no condition to help out with Rick's fence project and Shane obviously wasn't either.

Rick looked over at Shane's grave. There were little blue flowers growing on and around it and on T-Dogs grave as well. Yellow flowers bloomed on the graves of the family who had lived in the house before. When Rick had noticed the flowers earlier, he thought that Lori had probably planted them, but it turned out that Carol had been the one that had raided the flower gardens near the front of the house. She had dug up some blue forget-me-nots and planted them on Shane and T-Dogs graves, and she had planted some small yellow marigolds on the family graves. Rick thought it was a beautiful gesture on Carol's part and he wondered if it was hard on her, having lost her daughter so recently.

Rick was going to have to have a talk with Daryl and he wasn't looking forward to it. Carol had come down the stairs earlier that day and she was extremely upset. Rick had asked her if she was alright and she had told him with teary eyes how she had taken some milk and cookies to Daryl and how he'd been a complete jerk to her and had kicked her out of the room. Rick had tried to justify Daryl's behavior by reminding Carol that Daryl was injured, he wasn't used to having to stay put and he probably was in pain. Add all that to the fact that Daryl had a grumpy personality and didn't care to be around people to begin with and Rick was not at all surprised that he had told Carol to bug off. Rick had told Carol he'd speak to Daryl if just to calm the woman down a bit.

* * *

Daryl's eyes got big and in an instant Maggie could read all kinds of emotions in them, anger, hurt, sadness and then they were suddenly icy hard again.

"Where'd you hear that name?" he said.

Maggie watched Daryl as she spoke, "When you were waking up, you were talking to her. You told her you'd missed her a lot."

Daryl looked away from Maggie. "Did I say anythin' else?"

"No. You didn't."

Daryl nodded and started chewing on his thumbnail..

After a moment of silence, Maggie said, "Its okay, obviously it isn't something you care to share and I can respect that. I just wondered if she was a sister, a wife, a girlfriend, a daughter or what she was to you. You don't let anyone get close so of course when you were speaking with affection to someone named 'Lily' it made me curious."

Daryl sighed. "You know, if you're done with me, you can leave."

Maggie looked disappointed. "Are you in a rush to get rid of me?"

Daryl looked away from her. "It's sorta hard for me to look at you without feelin' embarrassed; so why don't cha run along."

"You need to get over that. You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about."

Daryl snorted. "Right. Easy for you to say."

"I was embarrassed, too, probably more than you are. It's over and done with and I promise to never tease you about it. I'm sorry you're so upset about it, but let me ask you this, who would you have rather had clean you up? My Dad? Andrea? Glenn? Carol?"

Daryl cringed. "Good Lord," he said, "don' even say shit like that!"

"Daryl, I care about you. I honestly didn't know if you were going to live or die and I wanted you to be clean and comfortable because dried blood flakes and itches like crazy and it stinks, too. Plus, if you died, you would have been cleaned up before you were buried and since I didn't know, it was also a way for me to do one final thing for you and to be close to you one last time if you didn't pull through. I was so afraid of losing you. I don't want you pulling away from me because of what I did. What do I have to do? You want me to take off my shirt, strip naked for you, so you could get a good look? Heck, I'll let you wash my chest if it will change your mind about this 'no more being friends' crap."

"Stop." Daryl said.

"Tell 'er yes!" Imaginary Merle shouted. "Tell 'er t0 show you her tits!"

"I just don't want to get close to anyone. Can't you understand that?"

"We're already close. I told you, I care about you. I care about you a lot and I want you to get better and if you want to push me away and pretend we don't know each other at all and kill what could be a wonderful friendship then fine, but I think you're being stupid."

Daryl smirked. "No, come on, go 'head, tell me how you _really_ feel."

Maggie sighed and stood up. "I really value your friendship. You tell it like it is and you're smart and you're funny. I promise I won't ever do anything to hurt you and I won't ever take you seriously enough to let you hurt me."

Daryl raised his eyebrows and looked at Maggie like she was nuts. "You can't say shit like that. You got no control over my feelins an' I got no control over yours. I fucked up an' let you get close an' now if somethin' were to happen to you, say some walker got cha, I'd feel awful 'bout that. Woulda felt bad before, but now it would be really hard to lose you. I 'spect you'd feel a bit bad if I kicked the bucket, too. See what I'm sayin'?"

Maggie smiled a big smile. "See? You do care! Daryl, caring isn't a bad thing. Its part of what makes us human. You're right, you don't have any control over my feelings and I don't have any control over yours. I lied. You've already hurt me. I was scared to death when you OD'd and I thought you were going to die. I was scared when Shane hurt you and you lost so much blood. I cried and the thought of losing you hurt. It hurt a lot. You can be a jerk and push me away, but we have a connection and you know it. We're friends and I like our friendship and I think it's worth any hurt that it might bring. I'm beyond the point where I'm ever going to be able to dislike you. I'll get mad at you and think you're a jerk at times, but I'll still love you as a friend and if anything happened to you I'd be devastated. "

Daryl was caught off guard. She'd be devastated if anything happened to him? "Maggie, I jes' don't do the friend thing well. I don't like caring. Makes me feel.."

"Uncomfortable," Maggie finished. "I know, I know, but dammit, Tiger, we're living in a brand new uncomfortable world and if you try, you can actually take comfort in some friendships. Give it a shot and see."

"You gotta stop callin' me that, too."

"No, I think it fits. You're a tiger in a house full of pussycats. You're cranky, you're dangerous, you like to be left alone and you hate being touched. Now, Tiger, I'm going to take some bandages, gauze and other things I need for dressing changes down to your room. I'm guessing you're anxious to get back into your room with the giant bed and the cool stone bathroom. The exterior door is all in now so you can avoid us all much easier than you could before."

Daryl grimaced as the pain increased yet again but managed a smile. "The door is in? I can jes' go from my room on to the porch? No havin' to go through the house to the kitchen?"

Maggie nodded and got up and leaned over him in the chair. "I knew you'd be happy to hear that. Now tell me what I can do for you to make you comfortable."

"Tell 'er a blow job'd do the trick," suggested Imaginary Merle.

"I can give you something that will help with the pain but won't make you sleepy if that's what you'd like. I can give you pills or an injection, whatever you want." Maggie smiled at Daryl.

Daryl looked at her as she stood there smiling like a fool. "You sound like a drug dealer tryin' to make a sale."

"Maybe I am, and everything is on special this week."

"Tell you what, why don't you just give me what you think I need? I'll trust your judgement. Jus' nothin' that'll knock me out. 'kay?"

Maggie couldn't believe it. "Seriously? You'll let me help your stubborn ass?"

"Well, if you're gonna say it that way.."

"No! I didn't mean it! I'm just surprised. I hate to see you in pain and it would make me so happy to be able to help make you comfortable. I'll go get what I think you need, and nothing that will knock you out unless the pain gets really bad and you decide you want it, or if I'm going to be changing your dressing."

Maggie smiled a big smile and skipped out of the room.

Daryl closed his eyes. The wound site was throbbing but at least it wasn't itching. He opened his eyes again and stood and looked behind him before he leaned over a bit to grab the wool Aztec patterned blanket off the floor. He arranged it over the back of the couch where it had been originally and looked around the room to make sure everything was in place. Everything except the missing bobcat and skunk. He slowly walked toward the door, anxious to get downstairs and into his room. He hoped the busted lock on the door had been fixed.

He walked down the stairs slowly and held on to the railing. It took a few minutes and he had to sneak by Andrea and Carol's room to avoid being ambushed and forced to stay and visit for a while. When Daryl finally opened the door and walked into his room, his mouth fell open. "What the hell?" Someone had moved things around and rearranged the room. His instinct was to be rip roaring pissed off, but as he looked around and saw the new door, the bobcat and the skunk and the Frederick Remington artwork, all his anger melted away. The room looked great. The bed had to be moved in order to freely access the new door. The door was gorgeous. Mahogany with a stained glass pane in it. The old bench with the coat pegs next to the door looked like it belonged where it was and it would be so easy to hang up his vest or jacket now when coming in from outdoors.

Maggie smiled. "Do you like it? Carol and Andrea did most of the work, except for putting in the door of course."

"I fuckin' love it." Daryl said, honestly. The carpet was clean and stain free and the walls had been freshly painted.

Maggie shook a bottle at him, "I've got something for you that will make you feel better."

"What cha got for me, you little dealer?"

"Today's special is Tylenol with Codeine. Give it a shot. Take two and if it doesn't help, we'll try something else."

* * *

Rick heard Maggie and Daryl talking in Daryl's room. He was glad that Daryl had finally made his way downstairs and into his room.

"I don't know, now I'm havin' second thoughts. Maybe I should just try to ride it out a bit." Daryl said after thinking for a moment.

"Why?" Maggie asked thinking 'here we go again'.

Rick knew why. Daryl's strong sense of self loathing would make him feel that he deserved to feel the pain. Damn, that was fucked up. Rick decided that he wasn't going to barge into the room and scold Daryl for "being mean" to Carol. Daryl had enough on his plate to deal with and Daryl and Carol were both adults and could work things out on their own. He was the leader of the group, not a damned playground monitor. He knocked on the door and opened it a crack, "Hey Daryl, glad you're back downstairs.. I won't bother you, just wanted to pop in and say its nice to have you back."

"Thanks, Rick. Great job on the door, I appreciate it."

Rick laughed, "It was fun putting it in. Later." and he walked down the hall with a smile on his face.

* * *

"C'mon Daryl, just try the damned Tylenol with Codeine. Please?"

"Fine. If it'll get you off my back."

Maggie shook out two pills and handed them to him. She smiled when he looked them all over to make sure they were actually what she said they were before he took them.

"This shit gonna make me sleepy?"

"It might, but not like morphine and oxycontin will." Maggie paused for a moment then said, "So...tell me about Lily." She was half joking and really doubted he'd ever tell her or anyone about this mystery woman.

Daryl hopped up on his bed. He stretched out and propped his head up on three pillows. Maggie had done a lot for him, but dammit this was his past, his private life. Then again, maybe if he told her she'd understand his aversion to caring for people. Maybe telling her would be a good thing. "What you got to trade."

Maggie was shocked. Daryl was actually considering spilling the beans about this mysterious Lily?

"Baked goods! Cookies! Brownies! My firstborn! Whatever you want."

Daryl narrowed his eyes. "Cookies. More an' one batch. Can I mix an' match?"

"Awww, Tiger, you made a poem!"

"Fine, get out."

"No, I'm sorry. Yes, more than one batch and whatever you want. Hell, I'll even steal Andrea's Kahlua if you want it."

"Pussy drink, that Kahlua. I'll tell you a bit, but you can't interrupt me. This is gonna be a hard thing to tell anyway and this is jes' 'tween us two. You don't even share it with Chinaman 'less I say you can. Is that gonna be a problem?"

"Not at all." Maggie pulled the chair over next to the bed. Witholding something about Daryl from Glenn wasn't like lying to him or anything, she reasoned.

Daryl nodded and took a sip of water then placed the water glass back on the night stand. "Lily is the only woman I've ever loved." Daryl said, glancing over at her and then looking away. "Was a long, long time ago an' she wan't never really _officially_ my girlfriend, but I loved her an' it damn near got me killed."

Maggie leaned forward but didn't say a word. She wasn't going to push him any harder to tell her about Lily.

"Ain't never been married, no kids, no sisters. Merle got a job after he come home from the Marines workin' construction for a big contractor, Buddy Farrington. Merle was twenty three an' he'd been workin' for Farrington about a year an' was a foreman. Farrington liked Merle a lot and had 'im workin' enforcement on the side. Bud was prolly the biggest coke dealer in Georgia."

Maggie had thought the name sounded familiar. Buddy Farrington had been brought down by the DEA just a couple of years ago for drug dealing, racketeering and murder. He'd been thrown in prison to rot for the rest of his life. It had been all over the news. Maggie shuddered. Bastard had probably been eaten by now.

"I'd stopped over to bring Merle cigarettes or some damned thing or other a couple a times at his work site and Bud asked Merle if he thought I might like a job takin' care a the horses at his place and keepin' up the grounds. Sorta like a handy man type a thing. Fixin' fences, helpin' with the hayin', muckin' out stalls. You know, that sorta shit. I was fifteen an' I started workin' for him. I'd walk over to his big house after school an' on Saturdays an' I'd work my ass off, doin' whatever his wife thought needed doin'. They had a couple girls my age workin' in the house doin' the housework an' laundry an' stuff." Daryl paused. What the hell was he telling Maggie about this for? To get her off his back about his aversion to getting close to people. Right.

Maggie had leaned forward in the chair and was totally engrossed in what he was saying.

He looked at her and then dropped his eyes. "I shouldn't be tellin' you 'bout this." He almost smiled when her face dropped and she almost looked panicked. If he stopped now, he thought, she'd probably have a fit; but she had the sense not to push him or to say anything and he continued.

"I worked there after school an' in the summer. Worked lots with the horses, did a lot a carpentry work, odd jobs like cleanin' the pool, mowin' the grass, prunin' the fruit trees. The house girls, they'd come an' go. Seems they was a new one ever' several months er so. Mrs. Farrington weren't the easiest person to work for. She was fussy 'bout how she liked things done an' I guess sometimes the girls got ornery so she'd fire 'em. I learned right early to do things the way she wanted 'em done. Bud 's gone a lot. Merle'd tell me he had girls he was puttin' it to all over town. He'd take his wife out to dinner once a week, on Thursdays.

She started comin' out to watch me work with the horses an' she taught me to ride. I could break a horse and knew the basics, she taught me 'bout leads an foot cues an' dressage an' stuff. She'd talk to me an' I'd mostly jes' listen. It was nice. I taught her how to shoot an' about what mushrooms in the woods nearby was edible. Stuff like that. When I turned eighteen, she insisted on takin' me out to dinner for my birthday. We had a couple a beers an' talked. Guess it was my first real 'date'. She told me she knew Bud was messin' aroun' an' had been for years. She only stayed with 'im 'cause he wouldn't let 'er go an' she was scared a him."

Maggie's eyes grew wide. "Mrs. Farrington? Is she Lily?" Daryl smiled a shy smile and Maggie imagined him at eighteen smiling shyly at the attention this older woman had started to give him. Of course he'd be receptive to it. He was probably dying for the attention. "How old was she?" Maggie asked.

"Don't know why it matters; now don't be interruptin' me. A few weeks later I was breakin' some a the new stock Bud had gotten in. I took a helluva spill an' messed up my shoulder pretty bad. Mrs. Farrington took me to the house an' had me take my shirt off so she could check it out."

The memories came flooding back like a dam had broken and now he was drowning in them. He had pushed some things into such far corners of his mind that they had almost been forgotten. Now they rushed to the front of his mind, painting vivid pictures and recalling feelings long ago buried. He told Maggie bits and pieces of what he remembered, but not everything. Some things were just for him to know and remember and weren't the business of anyone. Anyone except he and his Lily.

* * *

_She led him through her bedroom and told him to sit on the end of the bed and take off his shirt as she went into her bathroom. Daryl pulled his shirt off over his head, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. He looked around the room. The curtains were sheer and peach colored, and matched the linens on the bed. The furniture was white and there was a lace white canopy over the queen bed he now sat on. The carpet was a light peachy pink color. The room smelled of flowers and perfume and Daryl smiled. It was obvious that this room belonged to a woman. Mrs. Farrington came out of the bathroom with a towel over her arm and holding a damp washcloth. He looked at her and she smiled at him. Damn, she was beautiful. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back in a hair clip and wisps of it had freed themselves from it and stuck out around her neck and at the top of her head. Her jeans were dirty where she'd taken a dive into the sand and her sleeveless blue gingham shirt was stained with dirt and grass as well. _

"_Daryl, honey, now I've gotten a good look at you, I think you should just jump into the shower. I'll put your clothes in the wash and find you something else to wear. I'm sure I've got some of Buddy's older clothes around, they should fit you." _

"_Nah, I can just wash them when I get home Mrs. Farrington."_

"_Nonsense. I won't have you getting out of a shower all nice an' clean and then putting on dirty clothes." Daryl stood up and she pushed him along towards the bathroom. "Okay young man, be careful of that shoulder. The warm water should make it feel a bit better."_

_Daryl closed the door and stripped, then handed his clothes out to Mrs. Farrington who was waiting for them on the other side of the door. The proximity of his naked self and this beautiful woman (Lord, it was just a wooden door separating them by inches!) made him blush. He started the shower and when it was the right temperature he stepped into it. The warm water felt good running down his face, off his hair and down his back. His shoulder responded to the warmth as well and started to feel much better. His mind wandered as he stood beneath the warm shower. He couldn't understand why Bud would want to cheat on his wife. She was beautiful and funny and smart. What else was there to want in a woman? She was thirty-four, sixteen years Daryl's senior, but she looked like she was in her mid twenties. Daryl had been nursing a crush on the woman for more than a year now, but was very careful not to let it show. _

_He heard the bathroom door open. "Got some fresh towels." she said quietly. He jumped a moment later when he felt a hand on his back shoulder and he glanced over his shoulder quickly. Holy shit, Bud Farrington's wife was naked and getting into the shower with him._

_ "Do you mind if I join you?"_

_Daryl swallowed, seriously? "Um..no, not...uh..not at all..if you want..."_

_"Don't turn around. Just relax." _

_He closed his eyes. He must be dreaming. That was it, this was a dream. The hand on his back slid up to his shoulder and was joined by another hand and then his muscles were being kneaded and massaged by __the two hands. A moment later a soapy sponge was being rubbed across his back and then down the back of each of his arms. _

"_Um...Mrs. Farrington?" Daryl was starting to panic. Part of his body was suddenly wide awake and standing at attention. _

_She hummed as she ran the sponge over his back and down to the curve of his buttocks. "It's Lily. You have a beautiful body, Daryl." she whispered in his ear and he thought he would die right then and there. She massaged shampoo into his hair and her fingers rubbed little circles into his scalp as she worked the shampoo in. He'd never felt anything like it and he closed his eyes and let his senses take in the feel of her fingers massaging, scratching and rubbing his scalp. She held his arms to his sides and gently pushed him forward, positioning him directly under the shower head to rinse his hair. He jumped when he felt her lips on the back of his neck and his body trembled. He certainly hadn't expected that. He had to be dreaming. There was no way in hell this could be happening. There was no way a woman like Lily Farrington would be touching him like this. He was sure he'd wake up in his bed at any moment now, panting and messy from this amazing wet dream. _

_She planted little kisses along the back of his neck and ran her tongue up the side of his neck and __grasped his earlobe gently with her teeth. "Do you have a girlfriend, honey?" Because I don't want to cause a problem if you do." He choked out a "no" and her hands moved down his sides to his waist and slid around front to trace circles on his flat stomach. He sucked in a breath and then her hands moved down and fingers were combing through his pubic hair. His body tensed as she gently reached down and cradled his balls in one of her hands while her other hand ran an exploratory finger up his rock hard shaft. He was sure that he was about to explode. She leaned into him and he felt her naked breasts press against his back. _

"_What...what are you doin'?" he asked huskily and she smiled at the deep and breathy sound of his voice. _

"_Do you want me to stop?" she breathed into his ear as she gently stroked him. _

"_No," he whispered, "no, but I'm not...I've never..." his breath hitched and he exhaled with an almost inaudible moan._

_Lily smiled and put her lips close to his ear._ "_Don't hold back, sweetie," she whispered, "cum for Lily." She massaged his balls between the fingers of one hand and firmly grasped his length in the other one and gave him three fast and firm strokes. __He moaned, "Oh, God..." and she felt his whole body quiver and jerk and he pulsed in her hand as he came and came hard. When he had finished, she turned him around to face her and she crushed her lips against his. He opened his lips to her and then she was exploring his mouth with her tongue and he was clumsily trying to reciprocate. _

_He ran his hands up the sides of her glorious body and cupped her breasts in his hands as they stood under the shower. He kissed her hard and deep and then trailed kisses down her neck and massaged her breasts and ran his tongue around her nipples. The water started to get cooler and Lily pulled herself away from Daryl to shut it off. She pulled him close as water dripped from their bodies and was surprised to find that he was hard again. She took his hand and stepped out of the shower and he followed. Lily pulled a big fluffy white bathrobe off the hook behind the bathroom door and put it on, then told Daryl to turn around. He did, his back to her, and she took a big white towel she had placed on the vanity and rubbed Daryl's hair with it and then his back and then his buttocks and the back of his legs. She moved around to the front of him and dried off his shoulder and his chest, stopping to pull him close for another deep kiss. She wrapped the towel around his waist and tucked it in so it wouldn't' fall down, very aware of the bulge beneath the terry cloth. "Are you okay?" she asked. _

"_Okay? I'm fantastic." he said, totally in awe of what had happened. _

"_Fantastic, huh?" Lily smiled and whispered, " I'll be the judge of that." _

_Daryl was sure he was going to pass out. This sort of thing just didn't happen to him. This woman, the woman who had been the subject of his fantasies for the last year and then some had just jerked him off and now it appeared that his virginity might be packing its bags and getting ready to leave. _

_Lily walked across the room and locked the bedroom door. She pulled the window shades and then turned to face Daryl. "I think you should know that I've wanted you for a long time." she said and she smiled and dropped her bathrobe. _

_God, Daryl thought, she's so fuckin' beautiful when she smiles. She pulled the top sheet and blanket on the bed back and patted the bed. He admired her naked body lustfully as she smoothed the sheet with her hand. She was so beautiful. "I've dreamed 'bout you for over a year," he confessed and his face flushed red with embarrassment. "Been smitten with you for a long time."_

_Lily was more than pleased to hear this._ _She sat on the bed and said_,"_Come on, honey, come sit down."_

_Daryl did as he was told. _

_Lily wrapped her arms around him and kissed him. She ran her hands up and down his well muscled and taut arms and caressed those wide and impossibly sexy shoulders of his. She wondered if she should feel guilty, he was so much younger, but he acted so much older. He was quiet and mature and a hard worker. His body was the body of a man. The body of a beautiful and well built man. She pulled him down onto the mattress, "On your back, honey." He complied and she leaned into him and felt him pressing hard and hot on her hip. Lily climbed up and straddled him. She pulled his arms above his head and held them there as she looked into his eyes. He had wonderful blue eyes and damn, the young man was handsome. He looked at her with total adoration in his eyes and it overwhelmed her. She didn't know if anyone had ever looked at her like that. "I want to feel you inside me," she said lustily, "I want you so bad...but right now I don't want you to touch me, you let me do the touchin', okay, sweetie?" _

_Daryl bit his lower lip and nodded. _

_Damn, he was so fucking adorable! Lily kissed him and ran her tongue along his jaw line. "Is this your first time?" she whispered._

_Daryl blushed and she loved him all the more for it. "Can you tell?" _

_She giggled and smiled at him. "I'm honored that I'm going to be your first. You're a sweet and wonderful young man, Daryl Dixon, and the fact that your body is amazing and you're gorgeous is just icing on the cake."_

_Daryl was speechless, she was talking to him? About him? She thought he was sweet and wonderful and had an amazing body? She was honored that she was going to be his first fuck? Again, this had to be a dream. He reached to put his arms around her and pull her close._

"_No no." Lily said and she smiled and pinned his hands to the mattress above him. "You can't touch me. Not yet. I want you to close your eyes and relax. Just let me explore your body a bit. You're like an unbroken stallion and I'm doing the teaching and the riding today, capiche?"_

"'O_kay_. _My body is yours to do with what you will."_

_And what a body! Oh, she was going to take him up on that alright. She kissed him long and deep and she felt him growing harder beneath her as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She trailed little kisses down his neck to his chest, then ran her tongue around each of his nipples and gave each one a little nip. He gasped and she felt him twitch beneath her. She ran her hands up and down his sides and he stiffled a laugh. She smiled. He was ticklish. Her tongue made little circles and spirals down his chest to his navel, circling it twice. She swirled her tongue along the path of hair from his navel to where it grew curly and thicker. His moans and whispered endearments urged her on. She kissed a trail to where his firm erection laid against his body. She grasped him in one hand and he inhaled sharply__. Lily ran her tongue around the rim and slid her mouth down and licked and flicked her tongue across the tip. The sounds he was making; throaty murmurs, whimpers and breathy moans, were driving her mad with desire. She took the length of him in her mouth and sucked as she moved her mouth up and down, taking him into her mouth as far as she could and then easing him out as she licked and kissed and rubbed. "You've got a great cock." she breathed and she felt his hard, well muscled body tense and his breathing got heavier and faster. Finally she couldn't stand it anymore and she straddled him. She gripped his throbbing cock in one hand and eased her self down and let him barely enter her._

_ Daryl felt her warm flesh parting as she slid down over him and then she was pulling herself off of him and then sliding back down, just allowing a couple of inches of him inside of her. He felt like his whole body and mind was concentrating on the sensation of Lily's silky soft folds as they flirted with his impatient and very hard cock. He pushed his hips up in an attempt to push further inside of her and she pushed them back down with her hands and rolled her hips, denying him deeper penetration. "Fuckin' tease." he muttered, enjoying the sensation. He wanted to grab her hips and pull her down onto his length, to bury himself inside of her, to flip her onto her back and fuck the hell out of her, thrusting and driving into her hard, desperately again and again, but she was in charge for now. This was all new to him and he was eager to learn from her, so he kept his hands where she had placed them, up over his head and hoped he would last longer than the next few seconds. _

_Lily let just a bit of him in again and then she rotated her hips, her soft velvet walls sliding along the very tip. Then she slid herself down, taking all of him inside of her. He gasped and she sat up then she was grinding into him. She sat back and then leaned forward and rode him. She arched her back and pounded herself against him, writhing and rubbing and grinding. He felt so warm and hard inside her and she groaned with pleasure. She slid herself off of his length and then slid back down, taking all of him in again as she pushed and rubbed herself against him. She leaned back and then forward, increasing her speed as she rode him and she could feel herself nearing the point of no return. Daryl watched her through half closed eyes as she drove herself down onto him and slid away and then crashed back down onto him, taking all of him inside her again and again. He bucked and rocked his hips against hers. Shit, he was getting close. Her breathing was faster now, and she moaned as she rocked and rolled her hips against his. "Oh Daryl, my beautiful, beautiful Daryl," she moaned, "I want to feel you cum inside me, come on, honey. I want you, all of you. Come on, babe, you know I want it. Give it to me, Daryl, give it up to me."_

_Daryl groaned and breathed deeply, Lily was moving even faster now, he had never felt anything like this, he was so close, so fucking close. "Almost there," he whispered urgently. His body moved with hers and he felt like she was part of him and he was part of her. He sighed and moaned and then Lily was crying out his name and bucking and he could feel her muscles clenching and spasming around him and he went over the edge, thrusting deep into her warmth as he came inside of her. Daryl was lost in the intensity and the ecstasy of his orgasm as he called her name between deep guttural groans. He was overwhelmed with emotions and he was still breathing heavily when Lily leaned forward and passionately kissed him. He brought his arms down and wrapped them around her, holding her close to him, feeling her warm body against his. _

_Lily's dark blonde hair spread across his chest as she rested her head against it and ran her fingers in little circles on his well developed upper arm. She felt so good, so safe in his big strong arms, listening to his heart pounding in his chest. _

_Daryl wanted to stay like this forever; wrapped around her and still inside her. They were quiet for a few moments and he had to ask. "Did I do okay?" he whispered._

_She reached up and kissed his lips and looked into his blue eyes with her own blue ones. "You were fantastic."_

_He kissed her forehead and sighed,"Lily, Lily, I love you so much. I've been in love with you for a long time." _

_Lily lifted her head and grinned at him. "You don't love me, honey," she said, "you just love what we do."_

_For the first six months of their relationship, Lily would say that every time Daryl told her that he loved her. One day as he held her close after a steamy late afternoon session in the bedroom, she had surprised him by saying, "Daryl Lee Dixon, would it surprise you to know that I am totally and completely in love with you?" It did surprise him and it made him happy. Someone loved him, and not just anyone; Lily Farrington, the kindest, funniest, smartest and most beautiful woman he'd ever known was in love with him. With him! He could hardly believe it. _

_They rode horses together and he taught her to drive a standard shift vehicle. They would read to each other and critique the book they'd read when they finished it. She introduced him to poetry after convincing him that it wasn't just for the limp wristed and foppish crowd and he had loved John Milton's Paradise Lost and ee cummings sometimes outrageous poems. She introduced him to Dean Koontz books and he introduced her to Clive Cussler's 'Dirk Pitt' adventures. _

_They spent a lot of time in the woods, fishing in brooks, ravishing each other, swimming in rivers and just walking hand in hand on the trails in the cool green forest when they were sure they were alone. _

___Daryl loved Lily with a passion he had never known or thought he was capable of. She was his everything and he lived and breathed for her. He pledged his love to her and swore he would love her until the day he died. _

_Lily crafted Daryl into an amazing and adventurous lover and after one near disastrous session in a canoe in the middle of a moonlit lake where the simultaneous acts of orgasming and capsizing the canoe had nearly drowned them both; she declared Daryl was into 'danger sex'. "We almost got killed!" she had scolded as she wrung out her shirt on the shore._

_He had laughed and said, "Well, then we both woulda had the extremely rare experience a' comin' an' goin' at the same time."_

_They carried on for three years before Buddy found out what was going on. One of the newer house girls had a crush on Daryl and after being repeatedly rebuffed by him and discouraged from pursuing him by Mrs. Farrington, she figured out that Daryl's affections were already spoken for. She went to Buddy and said that she suspected that there was more than an employer-employee relationship going on between Mrs. Farrington and Daryl. Buddy called in a private investigator who, after conducting some surveillance, confirmed the affair._

_It was a hot day in early August when Buddy came home unexpectedly in the early afternoon as Daryl was working with the horses. Daryl was told his job at the house was no more and to leave and not to come back. . Buddy had three of his enforcers take Daryl out for a little ride and he was told to stay away from Lily in no uncertain terms. They roughed him up, as Buddy instructed them to, just to make sure he got the message and understood that Buddy Farrington was serious and that you didn't mess with the man's wife, whether he wanted her or not. Daryl had been dumped off onto the lawn in front of the apartment building he lived in, a bloody bruised mess and barely conscious._

_Despite the warning, Daryl couldn't stay away from Lily and Lily couldn't stay away from him. They talked by cell phone and met in secret in a small wooded area they used to take walks in about ten miles out of town and made plans to run away together to Wyoming. No one would think to look for them there and he doubted that Buddy would even care once they were out of everyone's sight. As he drove to meet Lily a week later he didn't think he'd ever been happier. He had saved up enough money so that they might buy some land and he would build them a small house. He was a good hunter and knew how to care for farm animals and how to grow corn and field crops and Lily was pretty resourceful herself. They would get married and have a family. He'd bought a ring for her already and had it in the right front pocket of his jeans. The diamond wasn't huge and it wasn't a fancy ring, but he was sure she would love it anyway. He would ask her this evening after he'd picked her up if she would marry him once her divorce from Buddy was final. Lily had always wanted children but Buddy hadn't been receptive to the idea of starting a family and kept putting her off, saying "maybe next year". He'd been saying that now for nine years and he hadn't touched her for the last four._

_The sun was setting as Daryl parked his truck. He smiled when he saw Lily's big old Buick. He started into the woods on the trail that lead to a mossy clearing near a brook where they planned to meet. He could see her standing next to the brook and he raised a hand in greeting and called out to her. The smile quickly left his face when he realized that she was not alone. She saw him and shouted to him. "Daryl, get out of here, now!" Before he could reply or even try to figure out what the hell was going on, someone holding a good sized rock smashed it hard against his right temple. He went down like a ton of bricks and Lily screamed._

_Merle bent over his brother and dropped the rock he held in his hand. He grabbed ahold of Daryl and hoisted him up over his shoulder. "I'm sorry baby brother, but you get caught messin' with Buddy Farrington's woman an' you gotta pay the price," he mumbled as he carried Daryl back to his truck. He dumped Daryl into the pickup bed where Daryl had secured most of his belongings for his trip to Wyoming and jumped into the driver's seat and started the truck. He watched as Lily was escorted to her car and two men got into it with her._

_Another man approached the truck and got in on the passenger side. "You gonna be okay with this, Merle? I know he's your brother."_

_Merle shifted the truck and followed the Buick. "I'm okay with it, Rob." Merle sighed. "Buddy wants to teach 'im a lesson and I ain't' got no problem wit' 'at. Boy's gotta learn you don't go after sumthin' belongs to another man."_

_Rob was quiet for a second as they drove. "Buddy ain't touched her for years. He's always braggin' 'bout the young chicks he's bonin' all over town. He has a couple of them set up in apartments. Bought 'em new cars, clothes, jewelry. Can't for the life figure out why he don't just get a divorce."_

_Merle laughed. "Man like Bud don't give up sumthin' that's his, even if he don't wan' it no more."_

_The full moon was rising in the sky and the stars started to come out. Merle pulled into a lumber warehouse parking lot and parked by one of the loading docks. He jumped out of the truck and hauled Daryl out of the truck bed as Rob went inside._

_Daryl was dizzy and his head hurt. Merle half led and half dragged him up the stairs and into the warehouse. "The fuck's goin' on..Merle?"_

_"You were told to stay away from Lily Farrington an' you din't listen. She's our boss's wife ya fucknut. You're gonna pay the price tonight an' I gotta help 'cause you're my brother an' I gotta show Bud where my loyalty lies. Can't deny it, 's gonna be painful, baby bro, but you're a Dixon so you can suck it up. Least you damned well better." He gave Daryl's arm a squeeze. "I aint' gonna let 'em kill you an' I won't let nothin' get outta hand."_

_Daryl nodded. Merle had his back even though he was one of the men who had brought him here. That was reassuring. As much as they butted heads, he and Merle were still brothers and kin and cared about each other in their own strange way._

_Bud approached Daryl and Merle as they walked across the cement floor of the warehouse. Rob was already standing with Buddy and the two other men were there as well. Buddy stopped in front of Daryl and glared at him with his dark brown eyes. He stood at least six foot three and weighed about sixty pounds of solid muscle more than Daryl. He grabbed Daryl by the hair as Merle held him and yanked Daryl's head back. Buddy brought his face down so it was an inch from Daryl's. "You been fuckin' with my wife, junior?"_

_Daryl narrowed his eyes at the man but didn't answer him. He suddenly felt the cold steel of a knife blade against his neck. "Answer me, or I'll slit your throat right here, right now."'_

_"Yes," Daryl answered. Buddy punched him hard in the stomach and he doubled over, but remained on his feet." You were given fair warning and told to stay away from her and yet, here you are, all packed up and ready to ride off into the sunset with my wife. Are you fuckin' stupid? Are you lookin' to die young?"_

_Daryl caught his breath, "I love her. She loves me. Why don't you jes' let 'er go. You don't care nothin' 'bout her anymore."_

_Buddy laughed. "That isn't the point. The point is that you were stealin' from me. Takin' something that is mine. No one takes things that are mine from me," Buddy grinned a big toothy grin. His dazzling smile had probably cost thousands in dental work, "Except maybe the IRS."_

_Daryl didn't speak._

_Buddy backed up a couple of steps and motioned to Merle, "Get his shirt off." He then turned to Rob and the other two men. "You boys hold him down on the ground."_

_Daryl didn't fight Merle and actually helped him to pull his t-shirt off over his head. Merle crouched down and pulled Daryl down with him. Rob and the other two men were on him in a second, Rob holding Daryl's left arm and left shoulder down as the other two men stretched out his legs and held them down. Merle put his knee on Daryl's right arm and held his right shoulder down. Buddy got on his knees next to Daryl and leaned forward, looking into his eyes. "You think you love my wife?"_

_"I know I do." Daryl said immediately._

_Buddy held his knife out in front of him. It was a beautiful Bowie knife with a very long blade and Buddy had had it custom made for him. The handle was ebony with inlaid mother of pearl and the forged steel blade was razor sharp. Buddy turned the knife in his hand, admiring how the dim light in the warehouse reflected and bounced off it's blade. He pressed the knife against Daryl's skin beneath his right collarbone and sliced through it, going in about a half inch._

_Daryl flinched and grit his teeth. The knife was so sharp the pain felt more like a burn than a cut._

_"Still love my wife?" Buddy asked._

_Daryl exhaled deeply, "Yes. A little pain ain't never gonna change that."_

_Buddy pulled the knife through Daryl's flesh and went deeper, angling downward. Daryl's body jerked and it caused the cut to veer slightly off course._

_"Do you think a **lot** of pain might change that?" Buddy asked._

_"You could slice me up into little ribbons an' it wouldn't change how I feel 'bout her." Daryl said quietly._

_The knife slowly plowed through Daryl's flesh across the top of his chest, cutting deeper. Daryl cried out as it cut deep through muscle._

_Buddy smiled and pulled the knife out and Daryl could feel the blood running off his chest and down his stomach._

_Merle was getting nervous. He was damned proud of how his little brother was toughing this out, but Buddy had a look in his eyes that made Merle feel uneasy. A disturbing, cold and mildly insane look._

_Buddy wiped the blade of the knife off on Daryl's pants. He poised the knife over Daryl's crotch. "What do you think? If I castrated you right here, right now, would you still be in love with my wife?_

_Bud was going to castrate him? Daryl was getting ready to lose it. He could feel hot tears stinging the corners of his eyes, but dammit, he could not, would not, cry in front of this bastard and definitely not in front of Merle. "I will always love Lily. Nothin' you do to me will ever change that."_

_The knife came up and Buddy yelled, "You bastard!" as he buried the knife into the spot beneath Daryl's collarbone where it had made its very first cut. It went deeper and impaled bone._

_Daryl yelled. He couldn't help it; this fuckin' hurt! He hoped Merle wouldn't be too disappointed in him for being such a pussy. The knife sliced deeper across it's original path and Daryl howled with pain. Shit, Merle must be so fuckin' embarrassed._

_Buddy moved the knife lower and cut a little 'x' into Daryl's chest between his left nipple and his sternum and smiled. "'X' marks the spot. I'm gonna cut your fuckin' heart out and hold it up so you can watch it stop beating right before your eyes! Think you'll still love my wife then, you fuckin' little dick?"_

_"Yes!" Daryl gasped, "I told you, nothin' you can do will stop what I feel for 'er. You kill me an' I'll take my last breath still lovin' her. That ain't gonna change. Never."_

_"If you're dead, it won't really matter, will it?" Bud snarled._

_Merle looked wildly at Rob. Rob's face had gone pale and he looked backed at Merle with worried eyes. Merle nodded slightly and Rob returned the gesture._

_Daryl realized that Merle wouldn't be able to save him. He was going to die so why hold back? "Prolly not," Daryl said between clenched teeth, "but lovin' Lily, feelin' her arms aroun' me and hearin' her breathe my name is worth a thousand deaths."_

_"That's it!," Buddy bellowed, "You're time is up!. I'm ending you now, you miserable bastard!" He raised the knife above his head and Daryl closed his eyes and waited for that last jolt of pain before he stepped out of existence. Suddenly Daryl was being violently yanked to his right and the knife blade collided with the cement floor. The men holding Daryl's legs weren't prepared and had lost their grip on his legs as Merle was hauling Daryl out from under Buddy's knife. He pulled Daryl to his feet and supported his brother against him._

_"I can't let you kill him, Buddy. He's my baby brother. My blood. I know what he done was wrong an' stupid, but he's only twenty-one an' he don't know shit. He's still my brother, my kin, my family and I ain't gonna let cha do this." Merle had pulled a Glock service revolver and he slowly trained it on Buddy, Rob and the other two men._

_"Merle!" Buddy shouted. "What the hell? How can you do this to me?"_

_Merle snorted. "Do this to you? You said you were gonna cut him a bit, scare him! You promised you wouldn't kill 'im! How can you do this to me? He's all I got for family now. All I've fuckin' got!"_

_Buddy gave himself a moment to calm down and then nodded and picked up his knife. "Merle, you've been a loyal and hard working employee for years. Disloyalty to me in order to be loyal to family is the only form of disloyalty I find tolerable."_

_Merle felt his brother lean heavier against him and then Daryl lost consciousness and fell to the floor at Merle's feet. Merle looked from Daryl to Buddy and then back down at Daryl._

_Buddy laughed. "Go ahead, big brother. Put your piece away and get your miserable little brother out of here. It's too damned bad he isn't more like you." He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet and thumbed through it before he extracted a wad of bills._

_Merle holstered his Glock and Buddy took a couple of steps toward him and held out the stack of bills."Here," he said, "Take Romeo to the hospital. You might want to hurry before he bleeds out. Lily is catching a flight to California. She'll be staying with her mother there indefinitely." He motioned to where Daryl lay on the ground. "You can let him know." Buddy bent down and scooped up Daryl's shirt and tossed it to Merle._

_Merle had gathered up his younger brother from the bloody cement floor and carried him to the truck. He had then driven like a madman to the hospital. A lot of questions were asked in the emergency room and Merle easily lobbed them away. Daryl had been in a fight in an alley by a bar and neither he nor Merle had any information on the attacker. It had been dark, after all and when Merle showed up everyone had split. Daryl was in the hospital for almost a week, the cut was deep enough so that a drain was put in. He'd ended up with a helluva scar to show for his involvement with Lily Farrington, but it was nothing compared to the one that was left on his heart._

_Merle learned shortly afterward that Lily was never put on a plane to go anywhere. Buddy Farrington was convicted of her murder and the murders of two informants years later when a cement patio at his house was dug up during an investigation into his illegal activities._

* * *

"I loved her. I lost her, and hell, I'll even admit that it fuckin' hurt, an' I don't wanna take that ride again. Ever. End of story." Daryl sat up on the edge of the bed slowly and gave Maggie a nod. "Happy now? Do you understand where I'm comin' from? I don't wanna get close to anyone, it ain't worth the hurt."

Maggie stood up from the chair. She had tears in her eyes and Daryl looked away. Then she was hugging him, her arms pulling him close to her. She sniffled, "I'm so sorry Daryl. I'm sorry." He found himself hugging her back and he was surprised that he was okay with doing that. It actually felt kind of nice. She was trying to comfort him and he was trying to return the favor.

"What the hell you sorry for? You didn't do nothin." He held her close and he could feel her tremble. Shit, was she crying? Damned women and their tears. They had a way of bringing down his walls and he hated that.

"I asked about her, I made you relive it all over again. I'm sorry."

Daryl held her at arms length, "Lookit me, now, dammit. Stop this damned 'sorry' business. Don't a day go by when I don't think a her at least once, so shutup. Okay? "

Maggie sniffed and nodded.

"Good, now get outta here before your boyfriend thinks somethins' goin' on an' comes in here and hits me again."

"Okay. I'll bring you something to eat." Maggie said, wiping her eyes..

"You don' hafta.."

"I'll do it anyway, that way you can avoid a heavy traffic situation in the kitchen."

Daryl nodded. "Thanks." Maybe she did know him better than he thought.

Maggie slipped into his room half an hour later with a plate of pork chops, shredded potatoes with melted cheese on them and a big pile of broccoli. She'd also brought him a big glass of iced sweet tea.

Daryl thanked her and dug in when she left the room. She'd brought him four pork chops and the pile of shredded cheesy potatoes was huge. He hadn't realized just how hungry he was and he ate everything on his plate and guzzled the glass of sweet tea to wash it all down. He pulled the shades and stripped down into his boxers and climbed into his bed. It felt so good to be back in his own room. He pulled the blue quilt up over his shoulders and just let himself get lost in his thoughts. He thought of Lily and of Merle and of the group of people now living in the house. He thought about T-Dog and Shane. He thought about Wyoming and horses and he thought about how nice it would be when he could strap on his crossbow and his guns and hit the woods again.


	51. Chapter 51

**Thanks for hanging in there and reading, I really appreciate it, although part of me thinks that you are all nuts to be interested in reading something I've written (must be a 'first story I've written for fanfic' inferiority complex). No offense intended at all! **

Daryl sat on the white quartz boulder in the little meadow near the house, cleaning one of his Rugers. He had been in his room for two days now and the new door that opened up onto the porch had been a God-send. He had successfully been able to avoid just about everyone and Rick had let everyone know that Daryl really wasn't up for having visitors. It was nothing personal, Rick had told the group, it was just that Daryl was easily tired out and that Rick didn't think that everyone popping in to see him throughout the day was a good idea. Maggie came in twice a day now to change his dressing and even she had left him alone for the most part. He was surprised to find that he actually sort of missed conversing with her, but it was probably best that they were starting to drift apart and he was certain that in a few weeks, their friendship would weaken or possibly dissipate altogether. He was pretty sure she'd figure out that being friends with him wasn't really worth the effort. He pushed a cotton pad soaked with Hoppe's 9 solvent down into the barrel of the Ruger with a steel cleaning rod and then ran a pad on the metal parts of the pistol's exterior. After wiping it down, he applied lubricating oil to the pistol and rubbed it in well with a cotton cloth.

The day was sunny and hot and the heat had convinced him to remove his shirt and tie it around his waist and to take off his boots and socks. His sleeveless t-shirt was starting to get damp with sweat and he wiped his brow and took a sip from the water bottle he had stuffed in the backpack that he had tossed on the rock next to him. Daryl heard footsteps along the shore and a moment later Andrea appeared on the edge of the pines that blocked the view of the meadow from the house. Andrea waved and started to walk towards Daryl.

So much for sneaking out of the house and coming to the meadow for some solitude. Daryl put the Ruger he'd cleaned down on the red and brown Aztec blanket he was sitting on. Maggie had brought it to him his first night back in his room when she came to change his dressing before she went to bed. She told him that she thought it would look good at the foot of his bed and it matched the decor of his room. He had agreed with her and earlier he had actually toyed with the idea of snatching it for his room, himself.

Andrea smiled as she approached Daryl. "Mind if I join you?"

Daryl shrugged, "Don' know why ya'd wan' ta. Ain't very good comp'ny."

Andrea climbed up on the rock and sat down about two feet from him. She watched him as he pulled the cylinder from the second Blackhawk and soaked a cloth patch with the Hoppes 9 solvent. She cleared her throat and asked, "Would you be okay with sharing your stuff? My Lady Smith could use a good cleaning."

Daryl was threading the saturated cloth through the cleaning rod. "Sure. When'd ya clean 'er last?"

Andrea frowned and thought or a moment. "Few weeks ago, I guess."

Daryl slid the cleaning rod into the Ruger's barrel. "Ya ain't fired it fer a couple weeks?"

"I used it quite a bit a week ago. I know I don't clean it often enough."

Daryl pointed at her gun. "These days a firearm is one a yer best friends. Ya gotta keep it clean and oiled if ya 'spect it ta work right all a time. Can't let it get all gunked up. Ya gotta take care a it like yer life depended on it 'cause it jes' might."

Andrea pulled out her Lady Smith and started to disassemble it. "Thanks for the lecture, Dad."

Daryl put the small wooden box with the gun cleaning supplies in it next to Andrea so it was between the two of them. "Jes' trying ta keep ya safe is all," he muttered.

Andrea started to clean her gun. After a few minutes of silence she said, "I'm still having a hard time with the fact that we're all infected. It sort of changes things to know that if any of us died, for any reason, that we would turn into one of those things."

Daryl was rubbing solvent on the Ruger's gun barrel, "Changes things?"

"Yeah. I mean, if one of us was to get sick and die, or drown or have a heart attack or something, the rest of us would have to make sure they didn't come back. I don't know about you, but I'm not comfortable with the thought of having to shoot one of my friends in the head. It's hard to have an an image like that in your mind as the picture of the last time you saw a person you cared about. Blood, brains and depending on the caliber and the range, there might not be much of a head left at all."

Daryl wet another cloth patch with solvent. He knew Andrea was thinking about Amy and he thought about the very last time he'd set his eyes on T-Dog. The top half of Shane's head had been pulverized by the Blackhawk he now held in his hand. "Don't have ta shoot 'em in the head." he said. "Could stick a sharp knife in ta the top a tha head or even drive a long nail in tha the top with a hammer if ya got the time. It'd do tha trick but make fer a better lookin' corpse."

Andrea laughed. "You've got a point there. Minimal blood and an intact face and head. Pretty clever, Dixon."

Daryl smirked.

Andrea looked over at him as he ran the pad over the metal on his pistol. "Could you do it? Say it was me, could you drive a nail into my head or a knife? Or into Rick's? Or Maggie's?"

Daryl snorted, "In a heartbeat."

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "Really? It would be that simple for you?"

Daryl stopped cleaning his pistol and looked at Andrea. "It'd damn well better be that simple fer you, too, Blondie. Ain't none a us wanna come back as a walker an' hurt no one else. If it was me ah'd hope ta hell ya wouldn't hesitate fer a second and shit, ah don't care if ya blow mah fuckin' head off. 'Jes don' let me come back."

Andrea nodded. "Okay," she said with a smile. "I promise that if you die, I will make sure you don't come back as a walker, but I would never blow your head off, you've got such a pretty face."

Daryl 'pffft'd' her. "Ya, too fuckin' bad 'bout tha world goin' ta hell. Ah had a big modelin' job with Prada all lined up."

Andrea smiled. Daryl didn't show his sense of humor very often. "I promised you, now you need to promise me. If I die, and you're there, will you make sure I don't come back?"

"Ain't into makin' promises, but ah will in this case, if it'll make ya feel better." He grinned at her, "An' if it comes down ta it, ah'll just drive a big ol' nail into each a yer ears; no holes in yer head ta see, minimal blood, brain still gets pierced but yer still pretty."

Andrea smiled and leaned in closer. "You think I'm pretty, Daryl?"

Daryl blushed and grabbed the lubricating oil. "Shut up," he grumbled. "Ya know yer pretty. Ya don't need ta hear it from me."

"Fuckin' right she's pretty!" agreed Imaginary Merle. "Never understood why ah never bumped uglies with 'er."

' She wouldn't a touched ya with a ten foot pole an' ya know it.'

"Sure she woulda! She's sittin' there flirtin' with yer ugly ass. Ever'one knows ah'm tha good lookin' Dixon brother. If she's flirtin' with ya, I coulda had 'er easy."

'She ain't flirtin'.'

"Son, ya really need ta get laid. How long 'as it been fer ya?"

"Shudup, Merle." Daryl muttered.

"What? Did you say something?" Andrea asked.

"Nah, jes' thinkin' out loud is all."

"A girl just likes to hear it once in a while from a man." Andrea said. She looked away from Daryl and rolled her eyes. Shit, had she really said that? Did she really think that? She was a civil rights attorney, a liberated, self sufficient, strong and independent woman and she didn't need any man to validate her worth; but she had just told a crossbow wielding, squirrel eating, motorcycle riding redneck that she liked to be appreciated for her outer beauty. Was she nuts? No. Her education and her debating skills had been rendered useless by the apocalypse and after sleeping in tents and being dirty and hungry and cold for so long, she had forgotten what it was like to even care about her outward appearance. In a house now where hot water and soap was plentiful as well as food and where she could lay her head on a pillow in a comfortable bed, she could afford the luxury of caring about her appearance. Dammit, she just wanted a little confirmation that after all the shit she'd been through for the last months, a man could still find her attractive. Was that too much to ask?

They cleaned their guns in silence and then Andrea said, "Well, I'm finished. Thanks for letting me use your kit." She holstered her gun and climbed off the rock.

Daryl raised his eyes and watched her climb down. "Yer welcome."

She looked back at him and smiled. "I'm going to pick a bouquet of wildflowers for my room. This field is full of them! Would you like me to pick some for yours?"

Daryl laughed. "Right. As soon as ah'm done crocheting the doilies ta put the vases on, ya can fill mah fuckin' room with flowers." He waved a hand at her, "Don' be silly."

Andrea shrugged and turned to get down to business.

Daryl polished the wooden handles of the Blackhawks. Every so often he would steal a glance at Andrea as she flit about the meadow picking flowers. Damn, she had a great ass.

"An' some grade A fancy tits, too." added Imaginary Merle.

Daryl found himself focusing on Andrea's ass whenever he stole a look at her. It was round and looked firm and for a second he wondered what it would feel like if he gave it a good grab. His cheeks and the top of his ears reddened. He smiled to himself and almost laughed. He could just imagine what would happen. He'd grab her ass and then he'd find himself knocked through a wall ten feet away and missing half his teeth. She'd be hopping from one foot to the other, doing a boxer's dance like Muhammad Ali, pumping her fists and daring Daryl to stand so she could knock out the rest of his teeth.

Andrea finished collecting the flowers she wanted and turned and caught him looking at her. She gave him a wave and he waved back, then she turned and walked toward the house.

She had quite the wiggle in her walk. He'd never noticed that before.

Andrea smiled all the way back to the house. She'd seen Daryl taking peeks at her as she picked flowers and she was delighted that she had caught his attention. She had visited with him for a while but had left before her presence annoyed him and she was happy to have spent some time alone with him.

* * *

Glenn was in the war room working on the security camera receiver program in the computer system. He had gotten the feeds up and running from the other cameras but he was having trouble getting all the monitors to synch with their respective cameras. Working cameras and feeds didn't amount to crap if the monitors wouldn't display the feed. He worked with and tried to tweak the program and then, when he thought he'd done everything he could do, he held his breath and rebooted the system.

Yes!" Glenn hollered. All twenty of the monitors had flashed and blinked and now all but one showed a live feed. The monitor linked to the camera in Daryl's room just showed a blue screen. Daryl had made dismantling that camera a priority when he was reestablishing himself in his room. Many of the new feeds were from perimeter cameras in the woods and near the shore of the lake. One was in the far corner of the hidden meadow near the house and Glenn could see Andrea and Daryl sitting on the big white quartz boulder . He scrolled the mouse to zoom in and zoom in it did, a bit too close. He pulled the zoom back a bit and the view was as if he was three feet from the two as they worked on cleaning their firearms. Glenn was amazed at the resolution. He saw Andrea sneaking peeks at Daryl as he apparently ignored her presence while he worked on his pistols. Then Daryl was talking to Andrea and Andrea was smiling. Glenn smiled. Damn, what a great tool for spying on people; if they were in the right place at the right time. The smile left Glenn's face as he surveyed the other new feeds. Yup. There was his and Maggie's' room. There was Rick and Lori's, Andrea and Carol's, Dale's and Carl's. He hadn't seen a camera in the room he shared with Maggie. Of course he hadn't thought of looking for one. He had figured the master bedroom had a camera in it because it was where the owner of the house and the base leader slept. He never for a moment had even suspected the other bedrooms would be set up with surveillance cameras. As he was watching the screens, he saw Andrea climb down off the large rock in the meadow and meander about the field, picking wildflowers. He could see Daryl raise his head as he looked away from the weapons he cleaned every once in a while and look in Andrea's direction. Glenn smiled. Ha! Was Daryl checking out Andrea's ass? It appeared that way because Daryl seemed to be looking in her direction as she bent down to pick flowers when her back was to him; once she stood or if she was facing Daryl's direction, he would be looking away or back down at his guns. Glenn laughed. "You dirty dog, Dixon!" he said out loud. And why shouldn't Daryl look? After watching a bit longer, Glenn could have sworn that Andrea knew exactly what she was doing and was purposefully standing and bending at angles that would show off her derriere to Daryl.

Maggie walked into the war room and upon seeing Glenn watching a screen with a huge smile on his face she, too, looked up at the screens as she approached him. "Is that our room?!" she exclaimed.

"Yeah," Glenn said, "but look at this!" He pointed to the screen showing the action going on out in the meadow.

Maggie watched for a moment then gasped and put her hand over her mouth, "She's doing that on purpose! Look at that! She's practically wiggling her ass at him!"

Glenn laughed, "Yeah, Andrea's pulling out the big guns now."

Maggie laughed, too. "No, if she'd pulled out the big guns she'd be out there bending over and sashaying around in Daisy Dukes*. "

Glenn smacked Maggie on the butt. "You should be the one wearing Daisy Dukes. You've got the best butt in the house, sweet-cheeks. I'm a lucky man."

Maggie gave Glenn a feigned look of surprise and smacked his arm. "Is that so, honey-buns?" she asked as she reached down and gave his butt a good hard pinch.

"Oww, damn, Maggie, that hurt!"

"It hurt? Well, mister, I guess its time to break out the ol' 'Buns of Steel' workout video for you so you can get crackin' and toughen up that bum of yours."

Glenn frowned. "There's nothing wrong with my bum," he said defensively, causing Maggie to giggle.

"You're right, honey-buns," she said," your butt is just _glorious."_

"Glorious? Right. You liar." Glenn grinned at Maggie. "but speaking of glorious, lets talk about _your_ butt."

Maggie shook her head, "Too much area to cover and not enough time."

Glenn's eyes lit up, " You know what? I'm going to name your butt! I'll call her 'Gloria'."

Maggie smirked and shook her head at Glenn. "Glenn, you really are crazy."

"Crazy about you and Gloria," Glenn replied. "Gloria the glorious butt." He pulled Maggie in for a hug and kissed her soundly on the lips.

Maggie rolled her eyes and hugged Glenn back. He pulled away from her and raised his eyebrows. "I just had the best idea!" he said excitedly.

"Hopefully its better than the butt naming one." Maggie teased.

"Yes, well , almost. Its pure genius! I'll disable the video feed from our bedroom and then we can look for the camera in the room together! "

"What's so genius about.."

"Naked." Glenn added.

Maggie laughed and grabbed his hand, "Well, come on, lets go!"

***Daisy Dukes – women's really short shorts made from cut off denim jeans. How short? Partial butt-cheek exposure is expected. Made famous by Daisy Duke who liked to prance around in them on the old "Dukes of Hazzard" TV show.**


	52. Chapter 52

The canoe slid silently across the lake's surface as Rick dipped the paddle into the water. He had taken the canoe out a few times prior to this excursion and practiced paddling and maneuvering it and had gotten quite proficient at handling the small watercraft. He smiled as he remembered his first time out in it with Andrea. They had proceeded to spend most of their time going in circles or arguing playfully over who was or was not paddling correctly.

Rick had decided that a trip around the lake in the canoe was in order before taking a 'field trip' and exploring the grounds around the lake. The canoe was silent and he could slide along in the water close to the shore and peek up into the woods. He was about a quarter of the way around the lake and so far he had seen two deer and a fat raccoon with four little raccoons trailing after her. The air was still and the lake was calm and flat, the only disturbance on it's surface being the swirls and tiny waves stirred up when the front of the canoe and Rick's paddle cut through the water. Rick was enjoying his quiet and solitary ride around the lake. Although Rick considered himself to be a 'people person' and enjoyed the company of others most of the time, sometimes he just needed to get away by himself. He thought about Daryl and smiled. Daryl was the complete opposite. Daryl preferred to be alone most of the time and did not, for the most part, enjoy the company of others, but sometimes he would make an effort to converse with members of the group. Rick was still amazed, at times, that Daryl had invited the group to move into the lake house with him.

Rick had gathered the group together a couple of days earlier and given them strict orders to leave Daryl alone. Daryl had just moved back into his room and Rick had stopped in to visit with him after Maggie had left the room. Daryl had been moody and tired and had finally told Rick that he just wanted to be left alone for a while; a few days, anyway. Rick had said he'd let the others know and Daryl had responded appreciatively. "It ain't that ah'm not grateful for y'all takin' care a me, 'cause ah am, ah jes' ain't used ta all this attention. 'S like tha walls er closin' in on me." Rick had thought about that and of course it would seem that way to Daryl. There had been a few protests from a couple of the members of the group when Rick had issued his "leave Daryl alone" edict, but for the most part they had done as requested.

Maggie had gone in twice a day to change Daryl's dressing and Rick had noticed that she hadn't stayed in Daryl's room any longer than it took to do that. Rick was a bit surprised by that because it appeared that Daryl and Maggie had become rather close; but then he figured Maggie and Daryl were probably cutting their time together short for Glenn's benefit, too. Of course Glenn would be jealous of his girlfriend getting close to Daryl when no one else seemed to be able to. He'd already shown that their friendship bothered him.

Glenn had been on the receiving end of several snarky comments about Daryl's black eye and everyone had let him know that they felt he deserved the one Daryl had presented him with in return. Dale had pulled Glenn aside and told him that if he'd waited a few days and then socked Daryl he probably wouldn't have gotten so much backlash. The fact that Daryl had almost died the day before and was still on Hershel's 'not out of the woods yet' list when Glenn chose to hit him didn't bode well with the others.

Carl had wanted to come with Rick on his canoe trip around the lake, and had tried to sell his father on the idea that it would be more fun and that it made more sense to take the motorboat instead. Rick had explained to Carl that one of the reasons for taking the canoe was the stealth factor. He wanted to see if he could see anything or anyone in the woods surrounding the lake without being seen, if at all possible. The motorboat would just draw attention. Depending on whether or not Rick saw anything of interest on his paddle around the lake, he might take the motorboat out and follow the same course. This would draw any walkers down to the shoreline making it easy to dispatch them from the safety of the boat. If he did take the motorboat out, Carl would be able to come along for that ride and Rick thought he might bring Glenn and Dale along as well.

Rick was about twenty feet from shore and paddling lazily along when he heard what sounded like a large animal crashing through the trees about fifty feet up into the woods. The sounds of twigs and branches breaking was followed by moans and groans that originated a bit further behind. Walkers. Rick pulled out his Python. The walkers were after something and whatever it was was crashing through the trees and brush and headed in Rick's direction. Rick held his Python and pointed it towards whatever was coming and apparently seeking the safety the lake might offer. Rick startled as a man in camouflage sprang into view and hobbled toward the shore as fast as he could. He saw Rick and shouted, "Help me! Please!"

Rick held his Python on the man as the man stumbled and hobbled toward him. "Are you bit?" Rick yelled.

"No! Not yet!" the man yelled back.

"Well, c'mon then!"

The walkers had made it to the treeline and Rick counted at least a dozen of them, all in camouflage and all lumbering and staggering towards the man trying to escape them. The man threw the pack from off his back and stumbled into the water, Rick maneuvered the canoe in closer. He wanted to get as close to shore as he could because trying to haul someone into a canoe in deep water was a sure fire way to capsize it.

Rick got the canoe in as the man reached thigh deep water. "Get in," Rick yelled. He kept the Python trained on the man. The man threw one leg over the side of the canoe and then was clambering aboard as Rick leaned to the other side to balance out the weight distribution in the small watercraft. When Rick was sure the man was fully in the canoe, he pulled the hammer back on the Python. "Turn around and face me." Rick ordered. The man in camouflage turned slowly to face Rick. He had dirty blonde hair and dark brown eyes and appeared to be young, early to mid twenties and damned if he didn't look scared to death right about then.

"You know how to paddle a canoe?" Rick asked. The soldier nodded and Rick threw the paddle to him. "Back us up a bit, " he ordered.

The young soldier took the paddle and dipped it deep into the water. In three strokes he had backed the canoe up so it was another twenty feet from shore.

The walkers were now stumbling to the edge of the shore and moaning and muttering, trying to figure out where their dinner had disappeared to.

"Are you armed?" Rick asked.

The young man nodded and unsheathed a military issue survival knife and dropped it on the floor of the canoe. He reached for his holster.  
"Easy there," Rick said, keeping his revolver on the man, "unholster your weapon slowly and then drop it where you dropped your knife.

"It's empty." the man said, but he did as Rick had asked.

Rick used his foot to slide the gun and the knife over towards him. He looked at the man and then back to the shore where the walkers stood complaining in grunts and groans. "Any others like you coming? Should we wait?"

The soldier shook his head. "I'm the only one left as far as I know."

Rick nodded. "There's been a lot of walkers around this area dressed like you and them," he motioned to the walkers on shore. "I hope you're up for answering a lot of questions, because I've got a lot of them to ask you."

The young soldier swallowed and nodded.

Rick turned to the shore. "First things first, though," and he aimed the Python at one of the Walkers. He fired and it went down. He continued to fire and then reloaded.

"The noise," the soldier hissed, "the noise will drawn others."

"As long as they stay on this side of the lake for now, I have no problem with that. If I can get them to come out of the woods and stand around along the shore, even better. It's easier and safer to pick them off that way. We're just going to have to have a helluva bon fire over here later."

The soldier nodded grimly.

"What's your name?" Rick asked and he shot two more walkers through their heads.

"Sergeant Bradley Wallace, USMC." He put his hand out towards Rick. Rick looked at it for a few seconds, and just before Wallace was going to let his hand drop, Rick reached forward and grasped and shook it, "Rick Grimes, former Sheriff's deputy." He then turned back towards shore and shot another walker.

"Thank you for saving me, Mr. Grimes. I didn't think I'd be able to keep ahead of them for much longer."

Rick shot the last two walkers and turned to the soldier. "Alright, Bradley, grab that paddle and head us across the lake to that log house over there." Rick pointed to the house. "You need to understand that we will be taking precautions and that you will be subject to a search before you are let into the house and around the other members of my group. We will also have an armed guard on you at all times."

Bradley nodded. "You're at Looking Glass Base. We thought it had been lost."

"You're right." Rick said, "It has been lost, to your military group anyway. It was empty and we've taken it over and we're not leaving. It belongs to us now and we're fully prepared to defend the house against anyone who tries to take it from us. Now tell me, how large is the group you were with and what was their mission? To establish a base again at the house?"

Bradley sighed. "Yes. There were sixty five of us that started out from Atlanta after the Overlook Base was overrun by zombies. We were going to try to make it here. Thirty others were going to try to reach the Birbama Base right over the border in Alabama. We had a camp set up about fifteen miles from here and we were all tired but excited because we knew we were almost here. About a week and a half ago, a group of zombies came through in the middle of the night and it was chaos; men screaming and running; some getting bit, some being eaten. It was awful. We all ran and got split up in the darkness. Over the next couple days, I only ran into zombies. Most of them were former members of my unit. Some of the zombies were older, 'riper', but they were dressed like us, too. I knew then that they had been at Looking Glass base and that the base had been lost. I was able to get away from the small groups of zombies I ran into. Today was different. I had just gotten away from a group of the damned things when I ran into a bigger group, I ran into another group just as I thought I had safely gotten away from the second group. I twisted my ankle jumping over a log and I'm not sure how much further I could have gone before they caught me. You have no idea how happy I was to see you in this canoe."

Rick nodded. They were getting closer to the shore near the house. "Once we reach shore, I'm going to get out first and then you get out and stay in front of me. I will have my gun trained on you and if you try anything that I perceive as being threatening or hostile, I'll won't hesitate to shoot. Do you understand?"

"Yes sir," Sergeant Wallace replied immediately.

The canoe slid up onto the shore and Rick stepped out onto the stoney beach. He trained his Python on the soldier and motioned for him to get out of the canoe.

Andrea, Glenn, Maggie, Carol, Dale, Lori and Carl spilled out onto the deck to greet Rick and the stranger he had with him. This did not please Rick at all. It would be safer for all of them, he thought, it they had stayed in the house. He had planned to call Glenn or Dale out to assist him while he frisked the soldier before letting him come into contact with the rest of the group. So much for that plan.

Carol had been out on the deck and had seen Rick in the canoe approaching the house. She watched as the canoe made it's way across the lake and as it drew closer, she saw that someone else was in the canoe with Rick and that the unknown person was doing the paddling. She had alerted the other people in the house and they had watched from the great room windows as Rick and the stranger got closer to the house and then as the canoe slid up upon the shore.

* * *

Daryl slid off the white boulder and slipped into the woods behind the meadow. He had finished cleaning and polishing his Blackhawks and returned them to their holsters about ten minutes before. He had been tuned into the sounds around him and had heard a couple of red squirrels deeper in the woods and what he guessed to be about sixty feet apart from each other scolding and chattering at something moving along the ground through the trees. The two squirrels ramped up their scolding and carrying on and soon a group of blue jays joined in and scolded whatever had stopped near the squirrels' trees. Daryl listened a bit longer. The squirrels and the blue jays kept up their commotion and that bothered Daryl. Two sets of squirrels and jays scolding and chattering about sixty feet from each other. Whatever was walking in the woods had decided to stop and it was not alone; there were two of them. The magnitude of the fits being thrown by the jays and the squirrels indicated to Daryl that the trespassers were not typical woodland creatures that the noisy rodents and birds were used to seeing. These were not deer or skunks or coyotes. The fact that both of the creatures had stopped advancing at the same time indicated to Daryl that these creatures were not walkers, they were humans. There were two people in the woods advancing toward the house and it appeared that they were trying to be sneaky about it. Daryl moved silently through the woods. He figured he would go wide around and to the back of the intruders and sneak up behind them. He would size up the situation and if necessary, take out the invaders.

As much as he loved his crossbow, he was damned glad in this situation that he had the two Blackhawks strapped to his waist. If he had the crossbow, and the intruders were armed, he'd probably be able to bring one down easily enough, but whether or not he'd be able to load another bolt in time to avoid being shot himself was questionable. He heard something approaching from up ahead of him and he looked around quickly. A cluster of young pines, about five to seven feet tall was off about twenty feet to his right. He quickly and quietly made his way over to them and slid beneath their lower branches. He positioned himself quickly so he was lying on his stomach beneath the boughs that swept the ground and he froze. A few moments later he heard a twig snap about ten feet from him directly to his right. He still didn't move. His bandaged incision was pressed against the pine needle covered ground and a sharp pain stabbed him, catching him off guard. Daryl bit his lower lip so hard that he drew blood but he was relieved that he hadn't gasped or audibly sucked in a breath when the pain had hit him. That would have revealed his hiding place to the man in camouflage that now stood about fifteen feet in front of him. The man held an AK74U like the one he had taken off the mostly eaten soldier he'd found the week before. Three invaders. Now there were three. A gunshot and then a blood-curdling scream pierced the air and it took everything in him to remain still. It had come from the house and the scream had come from one of the women.


	53. Chapter 53

Daryl's mind was racing. He was assessing the information he had and trying to incorporate it into a plan to remedy the dire situation he now found himself and the group in.

The gunshot he had heard had not come from a gun routinely carried by any of the others in the group. It wasn't Rick's Python, Andrea's Lady Smith or Lori's little Beretta Tomcat and it certainly wasn't Dales Winchester 30-06 or Shane's Mossberg 500 shotgun that Glenn had recently adopted. The shot had sounded like it came from a 9 mm handgun.

The invader he could see was toting the big Russian automatic and Daryl could only assume the other invaders were armed in similar fashion. They would have to climb over the fence to get to the house, unless they already had a man inside to let them in through the gate. For the sake of planning, Daryl would assume that at least one of the hostiles had gotten into the house somehow from the lake side.

The war room. Shit, if the bastards got into the war room they were all screwed. A weapons cache that size in the hands of a military group would spell the end of everyone in their little ragtag group of survivors.

Daryl was good at thinking on the fly and came up with a possible solution to this mess. Well, a partial solution, anyway. He mentally calculated his chances of success based on all the obvious things that could go wrong and decided that as risky as his plan was, he had no alternative. The worse case scenario if he failed would be the same as if he did nothing; they'd lose the house and probably all die.

Daryl quietly pulled one of the Blackhawks from its holster as he lay beneath the pine boughs. He was about ready to move when he heard a squirrel scold and chatter about thirty feet behind him and a couple of blue jays flew in to add their two cents. Another invader was coming from directly behind him and would be stepping on him in a matter of seconds. Daryl bit his bottom lip and a smile played about his lips as he heard Imaginary Merle whisper, "Go for it, brother. 's time to shine or time to die."

* * *

Rick had not expected Sergeant Bradley Wallace to pull a Kel Tech PF 9mm pistol after he finished introducing him to the members of the group and a friendly discussion had ensued. Rick had patted the soldier down as he had done with potentially armed suspects for years while in his past life as a law officer and he had found nothing.

Sergeant Wallace had been offered a seat at the patio table and had graciously accepted it. Other chairs were pulled around the table from various spots on the deck and soon everyone was seated . The group introduced themselves one by one and Sergeant Wallace repeated his story to them about how the Overlook base in Atlanta had been overrun and how he and several other men had been headed for Looking Glass base before they were attacked by the flesh eating dead as well.

Bradley Wallace scanned the faces of the group sitting near him. They seemed to be a friendly bunch. It was too bad, really. His job would be so much easier if they were hostile. The women were all fairly attractive, if not downright beautiful, and he knew the other men would be delighted to fulfill their long neglected desires with them. Maybe they'd even keep the women around for a while. The pregnant one, as pretty as she was, would have to go, though. Babies wouldn't be welcome in this new military controlled country for at least another couple of years.

"So is this everyone?" he asked, and he smiled at Maggie. He'd already decided that he would have her first.

"No," Andrea volunteered, "Daryl's out back. He was outside cleaning his revolvers."

"Revolvers? So this Daryl isn't up with the times? A semi or a full automatic is pretty much a necessity nowadays."

"Daryl is ...different." Andrea continued, "His weapon of choice is actually a crossbow."

Brad Wallace smiled. "A crossbow! How interesting! And he's behind the house right now cleaning his revolvers? Maybe we should invite him in so I can meet him, too."

Something about that comment struck Rick as odd. He wasn't quite sure why, it seemed innocent enough. He looked over at the others and Dale, Carol and Maggie glanced at him. He could see that they had been struck with the same uneasy feeling.

Brad noticed their discomfort. Before anyone could say anything else, he jumped to his feet while whipping out the PF 9 pistol. He grabbed Carl who had been standing behind him and to his right and pulled him in front of him. Bradley pressed the end of the gun into Carl's cheek.

Rick had his Python on the Sergeant in an instant. "You hurt my boy and you're dead." Rick's voice was calm and he spoke with authority. He would not show the fear he was feeling in front of the group and especially not in front of his son. This sneaky bastard had tricked him. How the hell had he missed the pistol when he frisked the guy? He had let his guard down like a fool and now he pushed the anger he felt in front of the fear. The anger was a much better shield and he glared at Wallace.

Sergeant Wallace laughed. "It would appear that if I die, so does your son. I have nothing to lose here and everything to gain, so don't fuck with me, Rick Grimes. Put your damned gun away now or I'll put a hole in Barney Fife Junior's head. The remainder of my unit should be here in just a few minutes." He waved his pistol in Rick's direction with his right hand as he spoke.

Rick saw what was about to happen and his whole body tensed as he realized he was helpless to stop it. Bradley Wallace's left arm was held across Carl's neck, holding Carl firmly against him and Rick watched in shock as Carl opened his mouth and bit Wallace's arm as hard as he could. Wallace howled and dropped his arm while turning the gun towards Carl and Rick lunged forward, trying to grab the gun. Carl brought up his foot behind him so he could launch himself away from Wallace and he hit him squarely in the crotch. Carl then pushed off, placing all his weight behind him on that foot. Wallace grimaces as his testicles were squished by Carl's well placed shoe and he fell. Rick fell with him as they both struggled for control of the gun. Glenn jumped up and leaped to where the men fought on the ground and grabbed Wallace's left arm. It was bleeding where Carl had bit him. The gun went off as Rick pulled it out of Wallace's grip and Lori screamed.

For a second everyone looked at themselves and their friends to see if anyone had been hit, then Maggie and Dale shot forward and helped Glenn and Rick pin Sergeant Wallace down.

"Carl, cuffs! Now!" Rick ordered and Carl ran into the house as fast as he could go. Rick crouched on Wallace's chest as the others held him down. He leaned forward and looked into his eyes. "How many of you are there?" he demanded.

Wallace sneered. "Enough to take this place from you. It isn't yours to begin with, you have no right to be here."

Rick shook his head, "No, no my friend, you're wrong there. This is our place and _you_ have no right to be here. Your place was in Atlanta. You lost it. This is our place." He paused for a moment then asked, "Are you in radio contact with the rest of your group?"

Wallace refused to answer.

Carl came running out the door with the restraints, the cuffs and shackles jangling against each other as he jogged up to his father.

"Leg irons, too. Good thinking. Thanks Carl." Rick had Maggie and Glenn practically sit on Wallace as he turned him on his side and got his arms behind him. He handcuffed him and then shackled his legs above the top of his military boots as Dale helped hold his legs. Rick hauled the soldier up onto his feet and dragged and shoved him across the deck, through the door and into the house. Everyone followed and Rick had Glenn bring one of the dining room chairs into the great room. Glenn set it down and Rick sat Wallace firmly on it.

Maggie took off her belt and Glenn took his off as well. Maggie buckled the two belts together and then secured Sergeant Wallace to the chair with the long leather strap she had just made.

Rick reached into Wallace's camouflage vest chest pocket and removed the walkie talkie he had found there when he'd frisked him earlier. He set it on the coffee table and switched it on. There was only static. Rick started to give orders. "I want everyone and I mean _everyone _to get to the war room _now_. Lock yourselves in and whatever you do, don't let anyone get in. I imagine Wallace's men will be coming from the woods in the back, so I'll be ready at the back to welcome them. Do whatever you need to do and use whatever you need to use to defend yourselves and that damned room."

"I want to help you down here." Andrea said.

"No, Andrea, now _go_, all of you."

"I'll grab one of the 'big guns' for you," Andrea volunteered. She had just finished speaking when the sound of automatic gunfire came from the back woods.

The members of the group that had started up the stairs froze.

"Don't stop," Rick shouted.

The group started moving again.

The walkie talkie crackled. "What the hell was that all about?" a voice said.

Everyone froze again.

The walkie talkie crackled again and a different voice said, "Guy from the house was sneaking through the woods. Just took him down."

Static from the walkie talkie again and then the first voice said, "Any one with him?"

"I'm going to check him out now," said the second voice. A minute passed and the voice came back over the walkie, "No, appears he was by himself."

Rick looked at the group standing on the stairs and in the great room. They were all thinking the same thing. Daryl.

"Looks like we found Daryl." Wallace gloated.

Rick punched the soldier in the face, hard, and then turned to the group. Maggie's eyes were wide and she had tears running down her cheeks. Glenn was holding her. Carol was teary eyed as well. Rick shook his head sadly. "There was nothing we could do. Upstairs, now!" he ordered.

Everyone headed up the stairs as fast as they could.

Andrea came back downstairs with two Ares Shrikes and six 60 shot clips. She handed one of the big guns to Rick. "These clips are damned heavy," she said as she placed them on the coffee table.

Rick swallowed. He had almost told Andrea to be careful about throwing those clips on the coffee table like that because if she scratched the table up, Daryl would be mad as hell. He hadn't had time to accept that Daryl was gone, it had only been a matter of moments since the they'd heard the gunfire.

"They sure are. Now get upstairs Andrea."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where the hell did you get guns like that?" Sergeant Wallace shouted. "You're not supposed to have that kind of firepower!"

Rick loaded the clip into the Shrike and Andrea did the same. "Andrea! I really want you upstairs."

Rick heard someone on the stairs and looked in their direction. It was Maggie. She was descending the stairs and looking at something she held in her hands.

"You got the room open? You opened the fucking room?" Wallace was incredulous. "How the hell could you.."

Rick turned to him and smirked. "Yes, we opened up the room. What did you think? That you and your men would be fighting a bunch of villagers carrying torches and pitchforks? This is why you're here, isn't it? For the weapons? The supplies? The food? I told you. This place is ours and we are not giving it up. We will fight to keep it." Rick turned to Maggie and then to Andrea. "Ladies, please, get upstairs."

"Rick, I"m not going anywhere so shut up and let me help." Andrea snapped.

Rick sighed. "You've never shot one of these before."

"Neither have you."

"I've shot guns _like_ it."

"Well so have I."

"You have not."

"I'm a fast learner and you can't do this alone."

Fine, he'd let her stay. She had gotten to be a damned good shot with her own gun and with a larger rifle and she was strong. Maybe she would be able to handle the big gun.

Rick looked over at Maggie. She sat on the couch and stared at the item she held in her hand. Rick suddenly recognized what it was. It was Daryl's hunting knife. She slid it out of the sheath and held it by the handle, looking it all over as she turned it around.

"Maggie, you have to get upstairs. Now." Rick said.

Maggie looked up at Rick with red rimmed eyes. "I will. I just have something to do first. It will just take a minute." She looked down at the knife again. It felt good in her hand. It felt _right._ It wasn't just a knife, it felt like an extension of her hand. The balance and the weight was perfect, the grip fit her hand like it had been made for her.

It had been Daryl's knife for years. It had been his daily 'go to' knife for hunting, skinning, tanning and deboning game; for carving bolts, killing walkers and cleaning underneath his fingernails. He had carried it on his belt in it's leather sheath and he'd taken good care of it. He'd had it all those years and yet when it had spilled her blood, when Shane had attacked her with it, he no longer wanted any part of it. That in itself totally blew Maggie's mind.

She thought he was kidding when he'd offered it to her. Daryl Dixon giving up his hunting knife? She'd mentioned it to her father the next day and he had told her what Daryl had told him. Daryl had told her none of those things. He had just offered her the knife. She had gone to Daryl shortly after speaking to her father and told him she would be delighted to have his knife if he was serious about giving it to her. He had smiled and gazed at her with those sky blue eyes as he'd taken it out of his dresser drawer. "Now this don't mean we're goin' steady or nothin'" he'd joked as he placed it in her hand. She never told Daryl that her father had told her why Daryl wanted her to have it and why Daryl felt he could no longer hold onto it.

She stood up and walked over to where Sergeant Bradley Wallace was carrying on to Rick about how much trouble Rick and all of them were in for stealing military supplies and taking over a military base and blah blah blah. Maggie saw the soldier look at her out of the corner of his eye and then he dismissed her as he turned his attention back to Rick.

It was easier than she thought it would be. Maggie stood behind the soldier and raised the knife. She brought it down straight into the top of Wallace's skull with as much force as she could muster. She wasn't anywhere near as strong as Daryl, but she was strong enough and the momentum of her downward swing combined with the razor sharp edge of the knife and the pinpoint tip enabled the knife to slide into the man's skull with ease. She pulled the knife out, which was harder than putting it in had been and blood spray followed the blade out of Wallace's head. He was in mid sentence in his tirade when the knife hit his brain and he just stopped talking and slumped forward where he was belted in the chair.

Maggie wiped the blade on the man's uniform as Rick and Andrea both stared at her with disbelief. She put the knife back into the sheath after making sure it was clean and then smiled sadly at the two of them. "I'm going to get myself back upstairs now. Holler if you need anything, okay?"

Rick and Andrea nodded and Maggie turned and slowly walked to the stairs and then ascended them without looking back.


	54. Chapter 54

Maggie returned to the war room after stopping briefly in the bathroom to wash off the blood that had spattered on her as she had pulled Daryl's knife from Sergeant Bradley Wallace's skull. Most of the blood had ended up on her face and her arms and she washed and scrubbed until there was no trace of it left on her skin. Her shirt was black, and it effectively masked the drops of blood that had splashed onto it.

She knocked on the door to the war room and Lori opened it to let her in. Maggie slid inside the room and closed and locked the door behind her.

* * *

Everyone was crowded around the monitors and watching three screens in particular. The cameras feeding the three monitors were set up in the woods out back and as the group watched, three men were making their way across one of the screens as they stealthy moved through the trees. The men were dressed in camouflage and wore balaclavas, leaving only their eyes visible.

Maggie scowled; they must be damned hot and uncomfortable dressed like that, she thought. Good. She was sure that the assholes would be burning in hell soon enough; then they'd _really _be hot and uncomfortable.

One of the other screens showed four more hostiles sneaking through the woods toward the house. All of the men were armed with AK74U automatics. Maggie moved her eyes to the third screen. It was the one that had everyone's attention.

Dale and Glenn were speaking to each other in hushed tones and Carol's eyes were glued to the third monitor.

The area shown on this screen was heavily wooded and tall saplings grew between the mature trees, creating a leaf canopy and darkening the forest floor. Despite the low light, it was easy to see the body on the ground, partially hidden by foliage and ferns. It was visible on the lower left hand corner of the screen. The man was on his stomach and the view from his shoulders and up was blocked by tall, feathery ferns. Most of his back was visible and his sleeveless shirt with the all too familiar plaid pattern was peppered with large dark spots, indicating that he had been hit by several bullets from an automatic or semi-automatic firearm.

Maggie could hear Carol crying quietly. As they all stared at the screen another invader walked into the frame and stopped next to the body. The soldier looked down and nudged it with his foot.

Maggie looked away. Why would he bother to do that? It was obvious that the person on the ground was dead. Nobody could survive being shot up like that.

Glenn reached for Maggie's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Are you alright?" he asked her quietly.

Maggie pursed her lips and nodded.

Glenn kissed her on the cheek. "I'll be right back," he said and then moved to the ammo shelves. He grabbed two green heavy canvas ammo bags and scanned the labels on the shelves until he found the shelf with the boxes of ammo for the Ares Shrikes. The rounds were M193 rounds and Glenn cringed. Daryl had told him when Glenn had been checking the ammo supply for the first time and had held one of the bullets up to show it to Daryl that those particular rounds had been banned by the UN as the wounds they caused were so devastating that they were considered to be inhumane. For this situation Glenn thought they were just perfect.

He grabbed twelve clips and placed six in each small bag. Glenn then approached the war room door and unlocked it from the inside.

"Where are you going?" Carol asked him as she wiped her eyes.

"I just want to take some extra ammo to Rick and Andrea and give them an enemy headcount so they have a rough idea of what's coming. I don't like the idea of not helping them on the first line of defense." Glenn explained. He grasped Carol's shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "I'm so sorry, Carol. I know Daryl meant a lot to you."

Carol nodded and wiped her eyes. "He meant the world to me," she sniffed.

Glenn glanced back at the monitors just as the soldier on the third monitor drew his pistol and delivered a head shot to the body on the ground. Glenn bit his lip. Of course the invaders didn't want to take any chances that any of their victims might come back as walkers.

Glenn looked over at Maggie. Her back was to him and she appeared to continue to watch the monitor. After what had just happened on the screen, he was torn between going to her and going to deliver more ammo and the information about the invaders to Rick and Andrea. He turned back to the door and gave Carol instructions to lock it behind him.

* * *

Glenn met Andrea on the stairs that connected the second floor to the first.

"Change of plans," Andrea explained as she adjusted the strap on the Shrike and hoisted it up further on her back. "I'm going to be in Carl's room stationed at his rear window. I'll get a good view of the hostiles as they approach the fence. It should be relatively easy to pick some of them off from there. Now where do you think you're going? Rick wanted everyone in the war room."

Glenn nodded, "I know, but the monitors are showing at least eight of the bastards headed this way. I just thought you guys would like that information and I brought you some more ammo," he explained as he held out one of the dark green bags to her.

"Thanks, I appreciate the information and the extra ammo. Better to have too much than not enough." Andrea said as she took the ammo bag and scooted around him. She stopped, "The feeds from the woods out back...I know its a shot in the dark, but did you happen to see Daryl? No way do I believe they shot him. He would have shot back and we would have heard at least one of his Blackhawks go off."

Glenn swallowed. "Yeah, we can see him. I'm sorry Andrea. " He reached over and gave her a quick half-hug.

Andrea bit her lower lip. Glenn could see tears welling up in her eyes. "Are you sure?"

Glenn nodded.

Andrea closed her eyes for a few seconds and Glenn saw her visibly slump. A solitary tear ran down her cheek and she wiped her eyes. "Oh. Okay then," she said shakily as she turned from him and climbed the rest of the stairs. "They're going to learn that payback's a bitch." she said coldly. "and so am I when you fuck with someone I care about."

* * *

Glenn walked quietly through the great room and stopped in front of where Sergeant Wallace was slumped over in the chair he was strapped to. His eyes were open and glazed over and blood had run down his face and was soaking into his camouflage uniform. He was glad that the bastard was dead. Glenn moved on and found Rick in the kitchen next to the window by the door. He was peeking into the back yard from around the open window's edge. He saw Glenn as he entered the kitchen. "What are you doing down here?" Rick hissed, "You're supposed to be upstairs holding down the war room."

"I know, I know, I'm headed right back, but I thought you'd like to know that the monitors that show the back woods indicate that there are at least eight hostiles headed this way, all in camo and all armed with automatic assault rifles. I also figured you could use some more ammo, you know, in case there are more of them than we know."

Rick nodded. "You're right, thanks, Glenn. " He took the ammo bag that Glenn held out to him. "Any of those cameras back there pick up Daryl?"

"Yeah."

Rick waited a few seconds before he urged Glenn on. "Well?"

"The monitor confirms what we heard over the walkie talkie."

Rick wasn't about to believe this for a moment. Daryl was tough and had a strong will to live and a knack for survival. He was comfortable and at home in the forest. There was no way in hell a bunch of bozos in camouflage could take him out when he was in his element. He was way too cunning and clever to allow that to happen and he moved through the woods like a quiet, stealthy cat.

"I won't believe it 'til I see him myself."

Glenn was quiet and nodded.

"Is Maggie okay?" Rick asked. "She shocked the hell out of me and Andrea. Your girlfriend is quite the tough cookie, isn't she?"

Rick had been watching out the window and now he glanced back at Glenn. He was surprised at the look of confusion on Glenn's face. He was about to speak when Glenn's face suddenly showed understanding.

He looked at Rick and raised his eyebrows. "Maggie killed Wallace?" he asked.

Rick turned back to the window. "She sure did. None of us expected it, least of all Wallace. She walked right up behind him and drove a knife into the top of his head, pulled it out and wiped it off and then went back upstairs like nothing had even happened. She didn't tell you?"

"No. She hasn't said much of anything since...since..she just hasn't said much."

Rick nodded. He knew Maggie and Daryl had gotten close recently. Everyone knew it.

* * *

Maggie watched from across the war room as Lori hugged Carol and spoke softly to her, trying to comfort the crying woman. Lori took Carol's hand and led her to one of the chairs in front of the bank of monitors. She spun the chair so it faced away from the wall of screens and sat Carol in the chair and pulled another one up in front of her so she could sit with her. Lori took Carol's hands in hers and leaned forward. Maggie caught a bit of what Lori was saying.

"Carol, of course he knew you cared about him and I know he cared about you, too."

"But he was upset with me. Now I'll never be able to tell him I'm sorry and let him know how much he means to me. I shouldn't have let him push me away."

Lori rubbed Carol's hands in hers. "Carol, sweetie, that's just who Daryl is, he doesn't like to get close. He pushes everyone away."

Carol turned her head and glanced in Maggie's direction. "No, not everyone," Carol said quietly.

Lori looked over at Maggie, too and Maggie looked down at the floor. Lori continued to talk softly to Carol and Maggie suddenly had the urge to hold Daryl's knife. She needed to feel that connection to him. She pulled Daryl's hunting knife and sheath from the waistband of her jeans. She held it in her hands and looked down at it. The sheath leather was soft and worn, but still thick and strong. She ran her fingers across it, and then inside the belt loop that had been darkened by use. How many hundreds or even thousands of times had Daryl slid this sheath onto his belt before heading into the woods or to work or anywhere. He said he'd had it for years. When had he gotten it? Was it brand new then or did he get it used? Was it a gift? What was the first thing he'd used it for? To gut a deer? To defend himself? To clean his fingernails? She examined the sheath thoroughly as she held it.

"Is that Daryl's knife?"

Maggie tore her eyes from the knife sheath and looked up. Carol stood directly in front of her, her eyes on the sheathed knife Maggie held in her hands.

"Yes," she said quietly. "His hunting knife."

Carol pursed her lips. "Could I have it, please?" she asked.

Maggie hesitated, then handed it to Carol. "Do you need to cut something? What do you want to use it for."

Carol gazed at the sheath and knife she now held. "I don't want to use it," she said, "I want to keep it. Daryl meant the world to me and I know he used this knife all the time. It would be like having a part of him."

Maggie swallowed. This was going to be awkward. "He gave it to me." Maggie said, "and I'm keeping it."

"Daryl gave you his hunting knife?" Carol wiped her eyes. "I'm sorry, but I find that a bit hard to believe."

"I don't care if you believe it or not. It's true. " Maggie countered and reached out and took hold of the knife. Carol wouldn't release her grip on it. Maggie wasn't about to engage in a childish tug of war in front of everyone else, so she let go of it. "Fine. Keep it." she snapped. She turned on her heels and walked to the door of the living quarters room, opened it and went inside.

* * *

Maggie closed the door behind her and sighed a shaky sigh. The room was quiet and dark and she slowly walked over to one of the queen sized beds and sat down on it. She closed her eyes. What the hell was wrong with her? She had killed a man in cold blood less than half an hour ago and it had filled her with a sick kind of satisfaction. She thought it might be in part because she had killed the miserable jackass with the knife that Daryl had given her; the knife that Carol was now claiming as her own. Why should she care about who ended up with Daryl's damned hunting knife? Because he'd given it to her, that's why. He'd placed it in her hands and made his "we're not going steady" joke to her and he'd held her hands in his, just for a moment, as she held it and he'd given her hands a squeeze.

Poor Carol. Maybe she was jealous of her relationship with Daryl. Maggie knew that Carol admired Daryl and she was pretty sure that Carol was attracted to him in more than just a 'let's be friends' way. She knew that Daryl felt protective of Carol, but he also felt like he had let her down by not finding Sophia and he carried a load of guilt about that. This guilt had made him shy away from interactions with Carol, much to Carol's dismay. Maybe she'd just let Carol keep the knife after all.

Maggie laid down on the bed and buried her head in a pillow. She grabbed the one next to it and hugged it to her chest. She closed her eyes tightly. This was the bed she'd shared with Daryl the night after Shane had hurt him so badly. She tried to clear her mind, but all she could see was the body in the ferns and the bullet riddled plaid shirt. It wasn't fair. Daryl had fought so hard to stay alive and had unknowingly helped her father to regain his faith in miracles. He had defied the odds and was healing well and getting stronger.

So what the hell had happened? Daryl was more at home in the woods than anyone she had ever known. How had he gotten caught? She felt hot tears welling up in her eyes. She could almost hear his voice telling her to suck it up; only pussies cry.

Okay, she was a pussy, not a tiger, and if she wanted to cry, she would. Maggie hugged the pillow tighter as her mind pushed up things she didn't want to think about. She didn't want to think about Daryl but there he was, infesting her thoughts with those beautiful blue eyes and that cocky half smirk half smile of his. Damn, She was going to miss him so much. She couldn't believe that she was never going to see those eyes or that smile again. She was even going to miss his scowls, his frowns, and the curses uttered sometimes under his breath and sometimes shouted, but always with a thick southern drawl. How could this happen? She cried into the pillow she clutched as she remembered the way he'd tasted like beer as she breathed into him when he'd OD'd that night on the deck. She remembered his calloused hand squeezing hers as he quietly thanked her for lessening his pain after Shane had ripped him open and she remembered the far away haunted and sad look in his eyes as he told her about Lily. She remembered waking up next to him in this very bed and feeling his arm wrapped around her, holding her close and his head resting on hers as he slept.

* * *

Maggie heard the door knob click and the door creak as it was pushed open. She didn't look over towards the door, but just stayed still. She hoped that whoever it was would just go away and leave her alone. She didn't feel like talking to anyone right now, least of all Carol or Lori.

She heard footsteps approach her and Glenn's voice softly said, "Hey, are you okay?"

Maggie pushed herself into a sitting position and placed the pillow she had been clutching back with the others at the head of the bed. "I don't know," she answered truthfully.

Glenn sat down next to her and leaned in to look at her face in the darkened room. His eyes had adjusted to the low light level and he saw her raise her eyes to meet his. He reached over and gently brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Maggie. I don't know what else to say. I don't know what I can do to make things better for you." He pushed her hair out of her eyes and then pulled her into an embrace.

"I'll be okay," Maggie said as she wiped her eyes. "We're all going to miss him."

Glenn held her in silence for a moment and then said, "Yes, but it will be harder on you. You were closer to him than anyone else." Glenn paused for few seconds and got up enough courage to say what he wanted to say. "He loved you."

Maggie huffed. "Daryl Dixon didn't love anyone. Well, he did once, and it sure as heck wasn't me."

Glenn smiled sadly. "He loved you. I could see it in the way he looked at you, the way he stuck up for you, the way he spoke to you, the shit he let you get away with. Have you ever known Daryl to let anyone tease him and rag on him without having him blow a gasket? He let you get away with it, though didn't he? I had suspected that he had more than a little crush on you, and when he gave you his knife, he confirmed my suspicions. I don't know if he even realized it, but I could tell he really cared for you. I think you could, too. "

Maggie started to protest but Glenn put his finger to her lips and shushed her. "Its okay, Maggie. He never would have acted on it. I know that. Just like I know you would never act on your feelings for him."

"I didn't have.."

Glenn laughed quietly, "Oh you did, too. Its okay. Neither of you meant for anything like that to happen. I'm really sorry about Daryl, Maggie and I love you very much."

Maggie held Glenn tightly. "I love you, too."

* * *

Andrea saw the first four invaders break from the tree line and make a dash for the fence. In a second, she braced herself against to the window, brought the Shrike up and pressed the butt firmly into her shoulder. The soldiers in the woods were laying down cover fire and Andrea heard it hitting the wood in the side of the house below her. She aimed for the closest man, pulled the trigger and held it. The Shrike spit bullets and Andrea took her finger off the trigger after seeing one of the intruders fall, screaming, to the ground. She'd hit him in the legs and she winced when she saw that the Shrike had partially amputated them. 'Thats what a big gun that shoots 13 rounds a second can do', she thought. She heard Rick's Shrike answering the gunfire coming from the woods and Andrea scanned the fence line quickly before finishing off the soldier she had hit in the legs. Rick had shot another one of the soldiers and Andrea took down the third and the fourth one as they reached the fence.

The invaders were shouting and two tried to retreat. They had expected that their attack would be a complete surprise and hadn't counted on encountering this kind of fire power.

* * *

Rick scowled. Something was wrong here. This was too easy. He held the trigger on the Shrike again and the gun rat-a-tat-tatted as he shot down a soldier approaching the fence. A series of shots from an AK74U rang out and Rick heard the scream of bullets as they whistled by, inches from his head. He could feel the displacement of air as they passed and he dropped to the floor and to the side of the window and grabbed the mirror from his shirt pocket. He tilted and turned it as he raised it slightly. He could hear Andrea's gun blasting away from the floor above him. The mirror reflected the image of two soldiers on their stomachs, sliding along the roof of the garage. He was going to blast the hell out of the assholes on the roof. Rick sat up and stuck the barrel of the gun out of the window. He couldn't have been more surprised when the tip of an AK74U was jammed into his cheek and an angry voice said, "Drop the fuckin' gun, asshole."


	55. Chapter 55

**Welcome new readers and thank you for taking the time to read my first fanfic. I'll try to wrap this up in a couple of weeks, but we'll see. I never did mean for it to be this long. It is cold and snowing here, I hope you are all warm and comfortable where you are. Please pardon my spelling errors, bad grammar and absolutely horrid punctuation. Cussing, improper word usage, improper tense usage, flatulence, and ridiculous story lines. Love you all.**

Rick froze.

The soldier holding the gun to his head spoke again. "Put down the damned gun!"

In a split second, an avalanche of thoughts rolled through Rick's mind. If he pushed back from the window while swinging the Shrike to the right, he might be able to take this asshole down without getting shot. If he dropped the gun, he might get shot anyway. If the soldier had wanted to shoot him, why didn't he just do it instead of telling him to drop the gun? Of course. A hostage. They wanted to use him as a hostage to get the others to open the war room up to them.

* * *

Maggie sighed. "Glenn, you don't understand and you're reading way too much into things. I love Daryl as a friend, and he _likes_ me as a friend. Nothing more. I honestly don't think Daryl is capable of loving anyone anymore. It's just who he is." She wiped her eyes and quietly added, "Who he was."

Glenn hugged her again and spoke into her ear. "I almost think it would easier for me to think he was in love with you than to think he didn't have it in him to love anyone."

Maggie rested her head on Glenn's shoulder as he held her. "Will you help me? When this is all through, when we're safe again; we need to go out and get him. Will you help me get him? I need to clean him up again and.."

Glenn interrupted her. "Rick and I will go get him and no, Maggie, Daryl wouldn't give a shit about being cleaned up and I won't let you be subjected to seeing those wounds up close. We'll go get him and bury him."

Maggie started to protest, "But I want to.."

"What would Daryl want? Would he want you to see him like that? No, he wouldn't and you know it."

Maggie wiped her eyes and nodded. " You're right." She was quiet for a moment. "At least he's with his Lily now," she sniffed.

"Lily? Who's Lily?"

"The only woman he ever loved. I'll tell you about her some time." She pulled away from Glenn and stood up as she took Glenn's hand. "I just came in here to collect myself. We need to get back out there and find out what the plan is, if there is one."

Glenn kissed her, then squeezed her hand and led her towards the door.

* * *

The members of the group in the war room had armed themselves and were locked and loaded for anyone who tried to gain entry.

Glenn, Dale, Maggie and Carol had helped themselves to Glock service pistols that hung on the wall of firearms and Lori had chosen to keep her Beretta Tomcat. She wouldn't feel comfortable with a bigger handgun. Carl was given a Beretta M9 and given specific instruction to run into the living quarters room and hide if the war room came under assault. Lori went into the room with him to help him find a suitable place to hide if it became necessary for him to do so.

The automatic and semi automatic rifles and assault weapons were determined to be too large and too hard to handle in such cramped quarters. Firing an automatic big gun into a person only a few feet from it could also be considered overkill. It would be like shooting a mouse with an elephant gun. If the room _did_ come under assault, the attackers would be close enough targets to make handguns the easiest to handle and wisest defensive weapon choice.

* * *

Andrea held her fire and listened. She could have sworn she heard someone on the porch beneath her speak when she'd finished emptying the clip in the Shrike and had reached for a full one to take it's place. Unfortunately, she did not have x-ray vision and could not see through the porch roof directly below her to observe what was happening on the porch. She saw two men sneaking across the roof of the garage and shoved the new clip into the Shrike, aimed and held the trigger. The bullets bit into the shingles on the garage roof, sending small pieces of shingles and wood splinters flying in all directions and then the men on the roof were yelling, one leaping off it and the other, now missing the left side of his torso from beneath his arm down to his hip, falling off onto the ground below. Torso guy's entrails seemed to unravel from his body as he fell and now they lay in a bloody, messy pile two feet from his body. Andrea stopped firing and listened again. She did hear voices. She peeked out the window and to the right just in time to see a man in camouflage scaling the chain link fence at the edge of the house by the driveway. She swung the Shrike around, leaned tight against the window casing and pulled the trigger. The force behind the bullets fired into him threw the soldier off the fence and onto the ground where he writhed for a few seconds and then was still.

Andrea pulled her head and the big gun back away from the window the second she was done firing and crouched down as incoming bullets peppered the house next to the window casing. The bullets entering the room through the open window tore up the back wall in Carl's room. Andrea grinned. The logs the house was built with were thick and she wasn't sure what kind of wood they were, but they weren't pine and they did a surprisingly great job of stopping the incoming bullets. Daryl would know what kind of trees the logs were from, she thought. Daryl. She had been flirting with him earlier today and now he was just gone. That was a bitter pill to swallow.

She frowned and listened again. Someone was on the porch below her and they were shouting. She heard Rick's voice answer back. At least one of the hostiles had gotten the jump on Rick. Andrea's mind raced. Okay, the hostile hadn't shot Rick and Rick hadn't shot the hostile so the hostile had to be in control. Rick would have blown the intruder's sorry ass away if Rick was controlling the situation.

Andrea grabbed the ammo bag and shouldered the Shrike and slipped out of Carl's room into the hallway. She could hear Rick talking and the hostile barking orders to him. She quietly made her way to the stairs that led to the third floor and placing every footstep carefully and as silently as possible, she made her way to the top of the stairs. Rick would want her to go to the war room and help hold it down, but she had what she was sure was a better idea. She walked into the open door of the first room on her left, the office with the huge mahogany desk and credenza. She thought of hiding in the trophy room instead, but decided this room had more of a strategic advantage. It was the first room after the stairs and if the hostiles were all headed to the war room, she could surprise them from behind once they'd passed the office on their way to the end of the hall. She left the door open and rolled the big leather office chair away from the desk and scooted into the space the chair had occupied. With shaky fingers, she pushed a new loaded clip into the Shrike.

She thought of using her Lady Smith that she'd tucked into the back of her jeans, but decided she'd prefer to go with the devastating firepower of the Shrike. She had never fired a gun like it and although the recoil of the powerful weapon made her shoulder ache, she just loved the damned thing. She rested the stock on her knees , the barrel pointed to the floor. She strained to listen, hoping and praying that she would not hear a gunshot indicating that Rick had been executed. She had been sitting and listening for almost ten minutes when she heard the sound of voices drifting up the stairway from the second floor.

"I just cleared that room. Whoever was shootin' at us high tailed it out of there an' must be hiding," said voice number one.

"Lieutenant Pearson said to keep to this floor until the rest of the team arrives," advised voice number two.

Andrea cringed. The rest of the team? How many of these assholes were there? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? Adrenaline was coursing through her body and she was almost thrumming with anticipation.

"What the fuck kind of ammo were they using? Did you see Bradford and what's his name; you know, one of the new guys, go down? Shit, Bradford's legs were practically ripped off and the new guy looked like Godzilla took a bite out of him and spit his guts out." Voice number one sounded appalled .

"That was pretty bad," agreed voice number two. "I almost think I'd rather be bitten by a roamer than go out that way."

"I don't know. I don't find either option very appealing."

"We should have sent the new guys from the Savannah base in first. I don't know how comfortable I am being covered by someone I don't know."

Number one laughed. "You made it this far, so they can't be that bad, right?"

She heard the thump of heavily booted footsteps in the downstairs hallway and more voices joined numbers one and two. The soldiers had moved away from the foot of the stairs and Andrea could no longer make out what was being said. She tried to calm her breathing and to relax a bit. Soon enough she'd have time to put her flight or fight instincts to good use. Andrea heard doors opening and slamming on the second floor. There were crashes and the sound of breaking glass. She scowled. The assholes were ransacking their bedrooms.

* * *

The anxiety in the war room was palpable. Lori was with Carl in the living quarters room and the general consensus in the room was that Carl should just stay in there and that Lori should stay in there with him. Everyone had been watching the monitor that was connected to the camera in Carl's room and had seen Andrea firing out the window. The camera was located in the right corner against the outside wall and the feed provided a view of the left side of the room from the doorway to the window that Andrea crouched next to. Everyone had watched as Andrea had stopped shooting and appeared to be listening to something. When she stood and left the room like she was walking on eggshells, the group in the war room knew that there were invaders in the house. That was when Lori had been sent to stay with Carl. If the invaders were in the house, Rick was either dead or was being held hostage. Either way, Lori didn't need to see that and the group was not about to let Carl lose both parents that day if they could help it.

Carol suddenly gasped and put her hand over her mouth to stifle a shriek. Everyone stopped their whispering among each other and turned to see what was wrong . Carol's eyes were on the third monitor and there were similar gasps as everyone's eyes moved to see what was disturbing her. There were two camouflage clad walkers crouched over the bullet riddled body on the screen. One had already torn a sizable amount of flesh from the right side of the dead man's back and it was easy to see a couple of sinewy ribs. The other walker was taking a chunk out of the man's lower left arm. As the group watched in horror, a third walker ambled into the picture to join his fellow creatures in the feast. Glenn jumped in front of the keyboard below the bank of monitors and typed and clicked the mouse frantically. After a few seconds, screen number three went black.

Carol looked at Glenn in shock. "Hey! Why did you.."

Maggie had had enough. "For Christ's sake!" she barked, "Do you really want to sit here and watch those things _eat_ Daryl? What the _hell _is wrong with you?"

Carol narrowed her eyes at Maggie, "Of course not! I just.."

Maggie was furious. She reached around Carol and snatched the knife that Carol had set on the table in front of her. "And _this_ is _mine_. Daryl gave it to _me_ and I'm keeping it, _dammit_!" She turned and stalked off to the med room, gripping the sheathed hunting knife tightly in her hand.

Everyone's eyes moved from Maggie's back as she left the room to Glenn. Glenn shrugged and looked at the others apologetically. "She's having a rough time. Losing Daryl is really hard on her."

"It's hard on all of us." Carol snapped.

Dale rolled his eyes. It _was_ hard on all of them, but everyone knew that Daryl had let Maggie get closer to him than anyone else in the group and what was so hard to understand about that? She was the one that changed his dressings, checked his vitals and doled out his pain meds. Since he'd been injured, she'd spent more time with him than anyone else in the group had. Dale sympathized with Carol. The poor woman had lost her husband, (although Dale wondered if that was a curse or a blessing in disguise), her daughter and now Daryl, whom she had built a comfortable friendship with as he searched for Sophia, had been pulled away from her.

* * *

Lieutenant Pearson hadn't removed his balaclava. None of his men had. He felt that they suggested a dangerous and more intimidating presence to their enemies. Fear of the unknown, fear of the faceless man. The last of his men and the new soldiers from Savannah had just entered the house. There were nine of them now. They had started this 'invasion' with twenty two, including Sergeant Bradley Wallace.

Two days ago Pearson and Wallace's group had met up with what was left of the men from the base in Savannah. There were six of the Savannah men, led by Captain Willem Shepherd. Shepherd had told Pearson and his group about how one of the soldiers at the Savannah base had been bitten while out on sweep for roamers and had hidden the bite in order to get back into the base. Their orders were clear. If you were bitten while out on a mission, you were to use your military issued handgun to put a bullet through your brain. If you didn't obey that order and tried to get back into the base after you'd been bitten, you were shot through the head on the spot.

Unfortunately, everyone on the base had been stressed out and on high alert and mistakes had been made. Captain Shepherd didn't know the real story behind the fall of the Savannah base. It had fallen all because of a mistake.

The McFlanery twins had been out sweeping the area around the Savannah base for roamers when Cillian McFlanery had broken out a window in a locked vehicle to get the case of Tullamore Dew Irish Whiskey he'd spotted in the back seat. He had cut his hand badly on the broken window glass, but he felt that his find was certainly worth it. When he and his brother, Patrick, returned to the gates at the base with Patrick carrying their prize, the soldier on guard duty took one look at Cillian's bleeding hand and assumed he had been bitten. The guard promptly drew his gun and blew Cillian's head off. Patrick stood there holding the box of bottles with his mouth open in a round 'o' of disbelief for about thirty seconds after his brother hit the ground before he dropped the case and went after the trigger happy guard. Bottles broke as the box crashed to the ground and the air was filled with the scent of 12 year old Irish whiskey. Patrick McFlanery was beating the hell out of his brother's killer and ended up strangling the man with his bare hands. He sat on the ground between the bodies of his twin and the guard and grabbed an unbroken bottle of Tullamore Dew out of the broken case. He cracked it open and cried his eyes out as he drank deeply. He had thrown back two thirds of the bottle and was still blubbering and cussing between pulls on the bottle when the guard he'd killed sat up next to him. Patrick noticed the man had revived and held the bottle out to the guard as a sort of a peace offering while drunkenly apologizing to him for killing him. An hour and a half later Patrick and the guard were running rampart through the base and had managed to attack and bite several soldiers before being shot in the head. It was too late by then, the damage had been done and like a row of dominoes, the base fell.

Captain Shepherd was dead now, along with half of his small group. There were three Savannah soldiers left out of the original six.

Lieutenant Pearson looked down at the man kneeling in front of him on the floor. He'd had one of his men tether the man's hand's behind his back. When Pearson had been called by one of his men into the great room and was shown what had become of Sergeant Wallace, he was infuriated. He dragged his hostage into the room and put him on his knees in front of the chair Wallace occupied. Pearson put his P9 to the man's forehead and almost pulled the trigger, but he regained his composure in time to prevent himself from doing so. He re-holstered his pistol and opened and closed his fist a couple times as if stretching the muscles in his hand. Then he punched Rick in the face. Blood gushed from Rick's nose and he lowered his head, awaiting a follow up to the initial blow.

"You fucking bastards! You'll pay for killing my men! You'll pay dearly! Now how many of you are here in this house!"

"Three of us." Rick said quietly. "The shooter upstairs, myself and another man out back, probably in the woods."

Pearson struck Rick again in the face and there was an audible 'crack' as Rick's cheek bone broke under the force of Pearson's fist.

"Bullshit! There are a lot more than just three of you staying here!" he shouted. "And your man in the woods is dead. He's roamer food now. "

Rick didn't say a word.

Pearson roughly hauled Rick to his feet. "We're going to take a little tour on our way to the weapons storage area and I'll play your game of hide and seek. Believe me, we will find every single person hiding in this house and then I will kill every damned one of you."

Pearson pushed Rick towards the stairs. Five of the men were already on the second floor searching the rooms. Pearson turned to the last man in the group that was going to follow him up the stairs. "Get the rifle he was using," he said as he motioned to Rick. "and bring up the back. I don't want to leave it down here and I don't want any surprises. The soldier nodded and turned to go back around and into the kitchen.

Rick had turned to look at the soldier Pearson was addressing. He was dizzy and his vision was a bit blurry but for some reason he turned to look at the man. The soldier looked over his shoulder at Rick as he turned to retrieve the Shrike and Rick went to rub his eyes, but his hands were bound. He wasn't sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. The soldier had turned and looked at him, just for a couple of seconds, his sky blue eyes a startling contrast to the black balaclava that masked the rest of his face.

A small smile played about Rick's lips as he watched the soldier walk away, a red rag hanging from the back pocket of his camouflage fatigues.


	56. Chapter 56

Maggie sat on the floor in one of the corners of the med room and stared at the knife in her hands. Tears ran down her cheeks and she didn't bother to wipe them away. Everyone in the war room probably thought she was a jerk now after the way she had yelled at Carol but she didn't care. She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall behind her. She was sure that the images she'd seen on that damned monitor would haunt her for the rest of her life and she wished there was a way she could un-see the walkers ripping into Daryl's body. _Eating_ him. Her stomach rolled as a wave of nausea hit her. Glenn and Rick probably wouldn't find too much to bury, she thought and then cringed with disgust at herself for even thinking such a morbid thought. She hoped they'd find Daryl's Blackhawks and that the soldier who'd killed him hadn't taken them.

She tried to convince herself that Daryl was better off now. He would never feel pain again, never worry again, never feel worthless or angry again. She wondered if Glenn had told Andrea and Rick about the visual confirmation of the walkie talkie's report of Daryl's death when Glenn had gone downstairs to deliver the extra ammo and the information on the hostiles to them. Maggie knew Andrea had wanted to get closer to Daryl. For Andrea's sake, she hoped Glenn had kept his mouth shut. If Andrea was going to be on the firing line defending the house, a new distraction was the last thing she needed.

Maggie looked down at the knife in her hands and slid it from the sheath. She squinted when she noticed something she hadn't seen before when she had looked the knife over. Stamped into the metal right below the handle at the base of the blade was a worn manufacturer's mark. She felt a shiver run down her spine as she examined it closer. It was a tiny walking tiger. She wondered for a second if Daryl had ever noticed it and then she smirked. Well duh. Of course he had. He'd had the knife for years and had probably sharpened it hundreds of times. She wiped her eyes again and the part of a William Blake poem suddenly invaded her thoughts.

'Tyger Tyger burning bright

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand dare seize the fire?'

A fresh batch of tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. Shit. It was ironic, the subtle reminders of Daryl in that poem. Tiger; her nickname for him. The poem's words reminded her of how Daryl felt so at home in the forest. It reminded her of his sky blue eyes and the dirty wings that clung to the well worn motorcycle vest he wore more often than not.

She had felt awful when T-Dog had died, everyone had. She had even felt a bit sad about Shane's demise. He had been a jerk a lot of the time, but she felt he deserved some slack for enduring the torturous bullshit that Lori had put him through.

Losing Daryl was so much harder. For a moment she wished she'd never gotten to know him and then she felt guilty for entertaining that thought. She recalled the conversation she'd had with him when he'd explained to her how disappointed he was in himself for letting her get too close to him. He had told her that he felt caring for people was not a good thing because caring made you vulnerable. If you were vulnerable, you might get hurt. "I 'spect ya'd feel bad if ah kicked tha bucket.." he'd said to her to make his point. He didn't know the half of it.

Maggie traced the tiger on the knife's blade with her finger and wondered if Daryl had been amused by the fact that the knife he'd carried for years had her nickname for him engraved on it. After he had pressed the sheathed knife into her hands, he had lectured her on keeping it clean and sharp. She wondered if he had been waiting for her to discover the tiny tiger on the blade because he certainly didn't point it out to her.

Maggie slid the knife back into the sheath. She knew she should go apologize to Carol for being so snotty, but she wasn't quite up for it yet. She frowned, disgusted with herself. In another 10 minutes they could all be dead and she was stubbornly holding back on apologizing for her bad behavior? She was nagged by the thought of how disappointed her father would be if he knew. She leaned her head back against the wall and mumbled "Sorry, Dad."

* * *

Daryl looked behind him and then picked up the Shrike rifle and the ammo bag that had been left on the floor next to the window by the kitchen door. Had Rick recognized him? He hoped so. He thought he had seen a hint of recognition on the man's face but Pearson had punched Rick in the face a couple of times and the blows to the head had appeared to disorient Rick.

It had been difficult for Daryl to restrain himself when Pearson had pulled a pistol on Rick and threatened to shoot him. Daryl had tensed up and was just about to tackle the Lieutenant when the man put the gun down and hit Rick in the face instead. It was hard for Daryl to stand by and allow that to happen, too, but he wasn't about to blow his cover to try to save Rick from a non-lethal beating. They would have both ended up dead and that would have been no help to anyone. Daryl was ready to step in and do what he needed to do if Rick's life was threatened and he damn well wasn't going to let anyone get into the war room, come hell or high water.

Daryl had stuck his weapons cleaning rag in the back pocket of his camo pants once he got into the house, pulling it out enough so that it would easily be seen from behind him. The sole reason for doing this was to (hopefully) identify himself to Rick or anyone else from the group he might encounter while masquerading as a member of the hostile military group. He was sure something would be said to him by one of the other soldiers or Lieutenant Pearson if they noticed it. You didn't try to blend in unnoticed with camouflage clothing and then visually scream out your presence by sporting something red.

There was also the challenge of finding an opportunity and a reason to turn his back to Rick or to any other member of the group he might come upon. It wasn't like he could do an about face for no reason and just waggle his ass at them, inviting them to see the red rag hanging out his rear pocket. He had to be subtle.

Getting into the house had been a harrowing experience. Daryl had been a second away from breaking cover from the woods near the driveway and sprinting for the fence when Andrea had popped her head out of Carl's bedroom window and blasted the soldier that had run up to and was in the process of climbing the fence right off it. If he hadn't hesitated when he did, he would have been right behind the man and more than likely would have suffered the same fate. He chuckled to himself. How stupid would it be if he had gotten this far after infiltrating the enemy only to be shot down by a member of his own group?

"Ya think too much, Darleena. Ya think dumb thoughts and ya laugh at fuckin' shit that ain't funny. What tha fuck is wrong with ya?"

"Ah'm a Dixon an ah find irony ta be humorous."

Daryl made a break for the fence after Lieutenant Pearson had captured Rick. He watched the upstairs window Andrea had fired from for a moment first and then broke for the fence at a dead run. He leaped up onto the fence and pulled himself up, sure that any second now Andrea would poke her head out of the window. She would see him and finish the job she hadn't quite been able to pull off at the Greene's farm when he walked out of the woods after searching for Sophia and Andrea mistook him for a walker. Her aim was much better now, though, and he had told her after she'd shot him that if she shot him again, she'd best pray he was dead. He had no doubt in his mind that if the new, improved Andrea _did_ see him and did shoot at him, this time he _would_ be dead. He smashed his bandaged wound against the top of the fence as he hauled himself over it and jumped to the ground. A sharp pain exploded under the bandage and he sucked in a breath as he bolted for the porch.

The combat boots he was wearing were a size smaller than his feet. His heels, ankles and his toes complained as he ran. The pants were way too big and he hoped the belt he was wearing would keep them from falling around his ankles, especially since he had been going commando when he left the house to clean his Rugers earlier that day.

When Daryl was switching clothes with one of the soldiers he'd jumped in the woods, (he'd killed one and then captured another) he refused to wear the underwear another man had just been wearing. That was just non negotiable. Daryl had punched a hole in the military issue belt about four inches in from the last hole and although a bit loose, the belt appeared to doing it's job in keeping the baggy camouflage pants up.

A very badly timed brain fart flashed a scene in his mind just before he leaped up onto the porch. _The belt was too loose._ _He was running for the porch in slow motion when his pants fell down (in slow motion, of course) around his ankles, effectively tripping him as they bunched up around them. He flew through the air, his arms windmilling (still in slow motion, of course) as he fell, and just then Andrea appeared at Carl's window again with her gun. She saw the state he was in and took aim at him while laughing._ He couldn't help it, he smiled as his feet landed on the porch.

"Fuckin' nuts, ah tell ya." Imaginary Merle grumbled.

* * *

Andrea leaned back as far she could in the enclosed space and repositioned her legs. She was sitting cross-legged under the large office desk. She moved her right foot from under her left leg so that it now sat on top of it and her left foot from the top of her right leg and slid it beneath it. Her back was starting to ache from hunching over to avoid hitting her head on the desk top. She knew that the soldiers would search this room, looking for whoever was shooting at them from the second floor. She wasn't sure just how thorough they would be when their actual target, the war room, was right down the hall. She was hoping that one of the armed hostiles would just peek into the room, see it was empty and move on.

She had to come up with a plan to use if the room was searched and she was discovered. If more than one soldier entered the room to search it and she was about to be found, she'd have no choice. She'd have to shoot them. Of course, that would alert the other hostiles to her location and she'd be royally fucked then unless she could take them out with the Shrike as they came running into the room. Yeah, that might work. If just one soldier was conducting the search for her, she would wait until he looked under the desk and then crack him in the skull with the butt of the Shrike. While he was disabled, she'd grab his knife and cut his throat. That would keep the noise down, unless, of course, the man yelled when she hit him, then it was back to plan one and blasting the bejeezus out of anyone who came through the door.

Andrea wished she was wearing her knife, but it was in the right top drawer of the dresser in her room, keeping company with her bras and panties. She mentally cursed herself for leaving it there. She had only been in the house for a few days and she had been lulled into a false sense of security and let her guard down. They probably all had.

* * *

Glenn wished to hell he hadn't dismantled the cameras in the other bedrooms in the house. Carl's bedroom was the only one where the camera had been left as it was per Rick's instructions. It would have been nice to track the movements of the invaders and Glenn was sure they would conduct a room to room search looking for anyone who might be hiding. The camera in the hallway on second floor had fizzled and gone off line the day before and Glenn was going to fix it later today. He smirked. Talk about bad timing. The group was quiet, with only an occasional whispered question or observation breaking the silence. Everyone was on edge, waiting and wondering. Where was Rick? Where was Andrea? Were they okay ? Had they been captured? Were they even still alive? Glenn had an idea that the invaders would use Rick and/or Andrea as hostages to negotiate the opening of the war room door. The invaders would know that if anyone was in the war room they would be armed to the teeth. He was not looking forward to the upcoming events. Would the hostiles threaten to kill or torture their hostage/hostages if the room wasn't opened to them? Glenn thought that was a given. Once the door was opened, would there be a firefight? Probably. If Glenn and the others refused to open up to the invaders, the hostage or hostages would more than likely be killed and then there would be a bloody battle for the room. Glenn was sure that no matter what happened, this was not going to end well.

Glenn looked toward the med room door. Maggie was still in there and he wasn't sure if he should go and get her or just leave her alone. Her little blow up at Carol had made everyone uncomfortable, but once Dale had explained to him what had happened, Glenn had confirmed that Daryl had indeed given his knife to Maggie. Carol had looked extremely sad when Glenn had made this revelation and he felt like a slime ball for making Carol feel bad. He sat down next to Carol and suggested that maybe she could have Daryl's Bowie knife if she felt she really wanted something that had belonged to him and that he was fond of and used often.

Glenn thought Maggie and Carol were both being ridiculous and petty, but he'd never say that to either of them. In another half hour they might all be dead and here he was, divvying up Daryl's knives to two crazy women. Of course the crossbow and the Rugers were not up for grabs. They would go in the ground with Daryl if Glenn had his way. Glenn chalked Maggie's and Carol's behavior up to the combination of 'women and their hormones' and the stress the two women were feeling due to both the present situation in and outside the war room and losing Daryl.

Glenn looked back at the monitors. Walkers had started to gather at the fence near the garage and there was a group of seven of them feasting on the soldier whose legs had been shot off. The shooting had been loud and every walker within hearing range was more than likely headed for the house. Glenn raised his eyebrows. Lately it seemed that when things went wrong, they _really_ went wrong.

* * *

Daryl ran up the stairs as well as he could in those damned tight boots and fell in behind the other men as they ascended the stairs to the third floor. Lieutenant Pearson had two soldiers in front of him and he shoved Rick along behind them. At the top of the stairs, Pearson started to point and bark orders. He pointed to the men in front of Rick, "Flank me while I walk him to the end of the hall." He pointed to Daryl and then pointed to the office door opening, "Clear that room." He turned and ordered the other soldiers to clear the other rooms and once they were cleared to meet him at the end of the hall. "If you find anyone, bring them here. If they resist or try to fight, don't fuck around. Shoot 'em."

Daryl glanced at Rick. Rick was looking at the floor and Daryl was thankful that he wasn't paying any attention to him. He had been damned lucky so far. The Savannah base soldiers were new to the Atlanta base survivors and so the soldiers from Atlanta just assumed he was from the Savannah group and the Savannah soldiers assumed he was with the Atlanta group. When Daryl had realized this, Imaginary Merle had piped up. "Ya know what they say 'bout assume. Makes an 'ass' outa 'u' an 'me'." He laughed his sadistic and unique Merle laugh and then said, "Nah, jes' makes an ass out a you, Darleena."

* * *

Lieutenant Pearson shoved Rick down the hall and Rick tripped and staggered as he regained his balance. He had felt so defeated and now he felt hope spring up inside of him. He could hardly believe that Daryl was standing right down the hall from him and that he had been able to infiltrate the military group. When Daryl had first shot him a look over his shoulder a few moments earlier, Rick wasn't sure if he was imagining things. It couldn't be Daryl. Daryl was dead. Surely there were other men out there with vivid sky blue eyes and maybe this soldier was one of them. Then Rick had seen the red rag hanging out of the soldier's back pocket as he walked away and he had known it was Daryl. What the hell was he up to? How did he end up in those clothes and with these men? Did he have a plan? Rick had done his best to ignore Daryl after that when Daryl had come upstairs with the Shrike and rejoined the group of soldiers. He didn't want to draw any attention to the man. Rick didn't understand how the soldiers didn't recognize that Daryl wasn't part of their group. Hadn't these guys all been traveling and working together? Didn't they all know each other? He found himself almost overwhelmed with a whole new respect for Daryl. The man was ballsy alright, and he was either incredibly brave or incredibly insane or both.

* * *

Daryl stepped into the office and took a moment to lean against the wall next to the door. His damned wound was throbbing and he was hotter than hell in those damned fatigues and the balaclava. He was sweating like a pig and swore that if he got out of this alive, the first thing he was going to do was to take a refreshing, cool shower. He went to pull the balaclava off, but changed his mind. If one of the other soldiers came into the room to help out, Daryl wanted to be as anonymous as possible. He laid the Shrike he had retrieved from the kitchen on the desk and walked back to the office door. He looked behind it and then closed it. He wandered over near the bookcases against the rear wall and glanced to his left at the desk. He noticed the chair was pulled out, away from the desk. He smirked. Someone was hiding under the desk and he was pretty sure it was Andrea. It had to be. Rick would have made everyone lock themselves in the war room and Andrea had been shooting at the invaders from the second floor. The war room would have been locked before she had a chance to get to it. Daryl peeked around the desk's left file drawer into the dark opening vacated by the chair and whispered., "Hey, Blon.." That was as far as he got.

The second the masked face peeked around the corner at her, Andrea rammed the butt of the Shrike into it as hard as she could. The soldier was crouching down, next to the desk and Andrea hit him squarely in the forehead. The man brought his hands up to his face as if to protect it as he went down. He fell onto his right side, his fingers laced across his eyes and his forehead.

"Son of a _bitch_," he hissed as he rolled onto his back.

Andrea leaped on to his stomach and pressed her Lady Smith into his neck just below his jaw. "Shut-up you _asshole_." She whispered harshly, "I'm going to.." her voice trailed off as she noticed the star tattoo just above the thumb on the right hand that was laced with the left one over the man's eyes and forehead. Her eyes immediately dropped and she grabbed the front of the balaclava and pulled the edge of it up to just above the soldier's lips. There it was. The blemish that Daryl despised and that Andrea thought made him look all the more attractive. The hands came down and shoved her.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Blondie." he hissed. "Ya tryin' ta fuckin' kill me?"

Andrea's eyes grew wide. "You're...you're not dead?"

"Do ah look like ah'm fuckin' dead? Now shut up and get back under there, dammit." he whispered angrily and pointed to the desk.

Andrea squeezed back under the desk as Daryl got to his knees muttering and cursing. His head was killing him and he was dizzy now. He grasped the edge of the desk and was pulling himself up when the office door burst open and two of the soldiers stepped into the room with their weapons raised and pointed at him.

"You want to tell us what the hell is going on here?"


	57. Chapter 57

Andrea huddled beneath the desk with her knees hugged tight to her chest. She had put her hand over her mouth when the soldiers burst into the room and was relieved that she'd been able to keep herself from making a sound. She was glad she'd done as Daryl had said but now Daryl had been caught. She closed her eyes tightly, waiting to hear the gunshots she was sure would erupt any second now. She feared that she had found out Daryl was still alive just in time to hear him get gunned down.

* * *

Daryl straightened up and brushed himself off. He squinted at the men standing in the doorway with their guns pointed at him. They morphed from two men into four and back again to two and they were blurry and surrounded by fuzzy, dancing black spots. "Ah tripped on tha edge of tha damned rug. Fell an' hit mah head on tha fuckin' desk."

The two soldiers lowered their guns and looked at each other. Daryl didn't know it, but they were actually relieved. They had finished clearing the game room and upon coming out into the hall, they heard a sound like a board being broken and then a thump come from the office. They approached the door with caution and on the whispered count of three, burst into the room.

The two soldiers studied the man now standing in front of them as he swayed noticeably on his feet and put his arms out to keep his balance. The poor guy had been hanging onto the desk and pulling himself up from the floor when they'd burst into the room. The room was dead silent for a few seconds and then the two soldiers broke into laughter.

"Yeah, ha ha. Assholes." Daryl grumbled.

One of the soldiers approached him. "Hey, man, you're bleeding." He pointed at Daryl's head.

Daryl pressed a hand to his forehead. He could feel a small hole in the balaclava and there was already a hell of a bump developing where Andrea had whacked him with the butt of her Shrike. The balaclava was wet and stained his fingers red. He looked at them and wiped his hand on his pants.

"Are you okay?" the soldier asked and he actually sounded concerned.

"Ah'm good." Daryl answered. That wasn't true. His head hurt like hell, he was dizzy and his he could hardly see straight. Yeah, he was just fuckin' great.

The other soldier started laughing again which thoroughly pissed Daryl off, but he held his tongue.

"Is the room clear?" the laughing hyena asked.

"S' clear." Daryl replied.

"Then let's go, banana heels."

Banana heels? Daryl threw the man an unseen scowl. He was able to keep his temper under control and he followed the two men out of the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Andrea couldn't believe that the two invaders bought Daryl's cockamamie story about tripping on the rug. She cringed when one of the soldiers pointed out that Daryl was bleeding. She hadn't noticed any blood when she had him on the floor a moment ago. Had she really hit him that hard? She guiltily remembered the brief flush of satisfaction she'd felt when the butt of the Shrike had solidly connected with what she thought was the skull of an enemy. Yeah, she had hit him that hard. She felt relief wash over her when Daryl and the other men left the room and the door to the office closed. Andrea took a second to consider the fact that she was probably in the top five on Daryl's shit-list. She'd already shot him by mistake and now she'd cracked him a good one in the head with the butt of a rifle. She hoped she hadn't hurt him too badly.

There hadn't been time to discuss whether or not Daryl had a plan or what she could or should do to help. Andrea decided to sit tight for a few minutes and then make her way to the door and listen. She knew the invaders were here for the supplies in the war room and that they had Rick. Would they try to negotiate? Would they trade Rick for some weapons and then just leave? No, Andrea was sure that they didn't just come for the weapons cache, they wanted the whole place.

* * *

"I think Clint Eastwood and Robin Hood are bunking together on the first floor. There's a crossbow in there and one of those 'Outlaw Josey Wales' poncho things on the bed," said the soldier that Daryl had decided was the smarter of the two. "Lots of Remington artwork on the walls, too."

"There's women here, too," Laughing Hyena said to Daryl and the other soldier. "The bedroom I searched on the second floor was a woman's room; bras and undies in the drawer, cosmetics in the bathroom, flowers on the dresser. Two beds both made up pretty so I'm thinkin' there are at least two women here." He chuckled. "It's been a while since I got some action. I think I'll ask if I can use Clint and Robin's room. That bed in there is big enough to accommodate a half-dozen women. I'm _really_ looking forward to some R & R after we take this place."

"R & R or S & M?" the other soldier asked. Hyena laughed. "I probably won't score either of those. Here its the end of the world and the bitches still won't give it up without a lot of 'persuasion'. Fucking ungrateful skanks."

"Stick to the plan." Smarty Pants said. "Once we take this base, we need to prepare for the future. Pearson will let us know which ones are keepers and which ones aren't. We can do what we want with the throw-aways."

"Wallace said we could do what we wanted with the keepers as long as we kept them alive, " Hyena complained.

"Just in case you missed it, Wallace isn't with us anymore and Pearson has always been in charge. He just let Wallace handle things he wasn't too sure of."

Daryl felt the anger rising up in him again. Were these scumbags talking about raping women? He thought of the women hiding in the house. Each of their faces flashed through his mind and the thought of anyone hurting any of the women in the group infuriated him; and God help them if they even _looked_ at Maggie. These assholes needed to be taken out before they could get into the room.

* * *

They stopped at the end of the hall where the other soldiers had gathered around Pearson at the war room door. The lieutenant had Rick on his knees in front of the door and was checking the magazine in his PF 9. He put the gun to Rick's head and snarled, "Whats your name?"

"Rick. Rick Grimes."

Pearson turned to the soldiers, "Safeties off and prepare to engage," he ordered. The sound of bullets being locked into firing chambers and safeties being switched off filled the hall with metallic clinking and clanking noises. Pearson approached and pounded on the war room door. "I know y'all can hear me and if you've got the cameras up and running, you can see me too. I've got Rick Grimes out here. If you don't want me to blow his brains all over this door, you'll open it. I'm giving you just one.."

The war room door suddenly flew open and all hell broke loose. The loud popping sounds of the Glock service pistols being fired from the room echoed in the hall and Pearson howled as his left arm was hit by a bullet, breaking his humerus.

Rick was still on his knees and was crouching down closer to the floor. Bullets being fired from the war room whistled over his head. Daryl lunged and grabbed Rick by the arm and hauled out from in front of the door before he could be shot by friendly fire. Daryl fell, pulling Rick from his knees down onto the floor with him as Daryl's right hand sought out the Bowie knife strapped to his belt. He released the knife from the sheath and slid the blade behind the restraints on Rick's wrists. It cut through the plastic slide tie and the rawhide ties like they were butter and Daryl jammed the knife back into its sheath and hauled the Shrike up, pushing the butt against his right shoulder.

Pearson had thrown himself to the right of the war room doorway when the shooting began and had drawn his PF 9 pistol. He was left handed and his left arm was gushing blood where he'd been shot. His left arm was useless now, so he tossed his pistol from his left hand into his right hand and fired it into the war room. He glanced over at Rick who was pulling the rawhide from his wrists. "You're fucking dead!" he shouted as he aimed and fired. A gun went off behind Daryl a millisecond before Pearson fired and a bullet hit the PF 9's barrel. The PF 9 flew from Pearson's hand as he fired it, changing the bullet's trajectory so that it hit the ceiling.

Daryl was impressed. Andrea really had improved a lot.

Andrea peeked around the doorway of the office, firing her Lady Smith. She had seen Pearson swing his pistol towards Rick and Daryl and she'd shot before he had. The soldiers had brought up their guns and now Andrea came under fire as well as the occupants of the war room. Two of the soldiers had gone down with mortal wounds when gunfire had erupted from the war room. Two of the other soldiers, including Hyena, had been shot but were still in the fight and firing back now.

The soldiers still thought Daryl was one of them, so they didn't fire on him. Daryl crouched and pushed Rick behind him. Rick started to turn around and protest but Daryl backed up into him and scrambled backward as he fired the Shrike. Daryl was literally herding Rick down the hall as he backed up.

Four of the soldiers had leaped into the bathroom across the hall from the war room to take cover.

Daryl went backward another five feet, covering Rick and then he pushed Rick into the game room. "Stay there!" Daryl shouted and he fell onto his stomach and pulled the butt of the Shrike against his shoulder again. Hyena had stepped out of the bathroom and was firing into the war room and Daryl aimed and pulled the trigger. He held the big gun tightly as it fired and kicked hard against his shoulder. Hyena's chest exploded and his blood hit the walls as the cluster of six bullets tore through his heart and left lung. The three soldiers in the bathroom were firing at the war room and hadn't realized that their comrade had been shot by someone other than the people in the room across the hall.

Daryl squeezed his eyes shut tightly for a second, then opened them. His vision still hadn't totally straightened out and his head ached. The roar of the Shrike when he fired it only excaborated his headache. He could hear the bullets tearing up the walls and floor in the hallway. It was going to be a bitch to repair the damage these damned bullets were doing. They'd have to redo the sheet-rock and pull up the floor and...he sighed. Here he was, in the middle of a firefight and he was thinking of home repairs? Brain farts. Gotta love 'em.

Andrea took down another soldier that ventured a little too far out in front of the war room and another soldier returned fire. Daryl heard Andrea scream. He turned to look and she was leaning on the office door casing, blood running down her right arm. Daryl turned back as Glenn and Dale leaped out of the war room with their pistols blazing and he moved forward to help cover them.

Rick bolted from the game room doorway towards the office to help Andrea and shouted to Glenn and Dale. He was pointing to Daryl and yelling Daryl's name, trying to let them know that although dressed like them, Daryl was not one of the hostiles. Daryl glanced back at Rick as Rick disappeared into the office, then he quickly turned back toward the war room. The bottom of a booted foot filled his vision for a split second and a blinding light accompanied a burst of pain as the foot connected solidly with the right side of his head.

Glenn and Dale had each run in different directions when they ran from the war room. Glenn had gone left and Dale had gone right and they'd pressed themselves up against the opposite wall in the hallway. Dale had almost run into one of the soldiers in the hall. The soldier appeared to have been shot in the head but was still alive. His balaclava had a bloody hole in the forehead and the man was crouched down on the floor. Rick had yelled to distract the soldier and Dale had kicked the soldier in the head to prevent him from trying to do anything heroic in his last moments. Now Dale had his Glock trained on the bathroom doorway. A couple of seconds later a soldier ventured a peek around the door. Dale had been waiting for him and pulled the trigger. The soldier fell, his neck ripped open and blood spraying from his carotid artery. The other two soldiers started hollering that they wanted to surrender. Dale looked at Glenn who stood on the other side of the bathroom door where the soldiers were now trapped. Glenn nodded. "Okay," Dale yelled. "Throw your guns out into the hallway first!"

An AK74U came skidding across the hall followed by a another one seconds later.

"Pistols, too." Dale ordered. "Pistols first and then the clips."

Two pistols came flying out of the bathroom at the same time and bounced across the hallway. Two clips bounced into the hallway a few seconds later.

Dale nodded to Glenn and Glenn raised his Glock. "Okay," Dale continued. "Come on out with your hands on your head."

The two soldiers emerged from the bathroom, but they did not have their hands on their head. One angled himself so he was facing Glenn, the other one faced Dale.

"Hands on your head, " Dale ordered.

The soldiers both fell to their knees and pulled pistols that were tucked into their belts behind their backs. Glenn ducked as shots rang out and a bullet screamed over the top of his head, going into the wall. Dale's right boot was grazed as the bullet meant for him went into the floor. Glenn and Dale both opened fire immediately and then it was all over and the last two soldiers lay dead on the ground.

Dale watched Glenn as he cautiously moved toward the bathroom. He peeked inside and then turned to Dale. "All clear," he said. Dale nodded and said, "I'm going to check on Andrea. Let the others know it's clear up here." Dale ran down the hall to see what was going on in the office. Rick had Andrea sitting in a chair and he was pressing his shirt against the bleeding bullet wound in her shoulder. She was pale and tears ran down her face. Dale approached her. "Are you okay?" he asked.

Andrea looked at Dale and was touched by the concern she saw on his face. He had always been overprotective towards her and Amy. "I'm sure I'll be just fine. It really hurts, though." She managed to give him a small smile and asked, " Did you kill all the hostiles?"

"We got 'em all."

Rick glanced at Dale and then turned his attention back to Andrea's shoulder. "Are we all okay?"

"All present and accounted for." Dale reported.

Rick sighed. "Thank God." He dabbed at the blood on Andrea's shoulder and she winced. Rick turned to Dale again. "Could you have Carol come here with some gauze and bandages, maybe some sterile saline? I'd like to get at least a temporary dressing on before we head to the med room."

"I can walk down there just fine." Andrea insisted and she started to stand up.

"Look, just humor me, okay?" Rick asked. "It won't take but a minute or so to put a temporary dressing on and it would help to stop the bleeding."

"But I.."

"Please."

Andrea sighed. "Dammit. When you say please and pull out the big puppy dog eyes, you know I can't say no."

Rick smiled. "Thank you. Dale?"

Dale nodded, "I'm on my way to get her," and he left the office to get Carol.

Dale called into the war room for Carol and the two went down the hall to assist Rick with Andrea. On his way down the hall, Dale stopped and leaned over the soldier he'd kicked in the head. In addition to the bloody head wound it appeared that the soldier had been shot or stabbed in the left side as his camouflage shirt was soaked through with blood in that area. Dale was certain that the soldier was now dead. Dale jogged to catch up with Carol and entered the office with her.

* * *

Maggie came out into the hallway and looked around at the bodies on the floor. "You sure this is all of them?" she asked.  
Glenn nodded as he looked around the hallway. "I'm pretty sure. I'm going to ask Rick and Dale to take a look downstairs with me, just to be sure."

Lieutenant Pearson's corpse moaned and then started to sit up. Maggie pulled Daryl's hunting knife from it's sheath and slipped behind the new walker. She positioned the knife above him and drove it into the top of his skull. Maggie pulled the knife from Pearson's head and he slumped over and lay still. "I'm going to make sure none of the rest of them come back." she told Glenn.

"You want some help?" Glenn asked. "Should we unmask them first? Would it make it easier for the knife to penetrate?"

Maggie frowned. "Thanks, but I can finish them myself. As far as removing their masks; what the heck for? The knife is plenty sharp. It won't get snagged up and it'll cut right through. I certainly don't give a damn what these jerks look like. Besides," she added, "its easier for me this way. I can forget they were ever human."

Glenn was going to insist on helping her but decided not to. Maybe this would help to work some of the aggression out of Maggie. Two of the soldiers had been killed with head shots, so she didn't need to neutralize them. She stabbed the next couple of soldiers with brutal force, bringing the knife down hard and sinking it through the balaclavas and into their skulls clear up to the hilt. She had taken a sick sort of pleasure at stabbing the military casualties through their heads. It had given her satisfaction and had partially sated her need for revenge.

She reached the last soldier that was lying on his side further down the hall and rolled him onto his back. She straddled him and sat down on his chest. This one was the last invader that needed to be permanently killed. She was pumped up and running on adrenaline and she felt like some sort of 'Conan the Barbarian' type of female warrior. She brought the knife up over her head and for a second she considered hollering out a victory whoop of some kind. "Take this, you asshole!" she shouted.

Rick was just exiting the office when he saw what Maggie was doing. He took in the whole scene in a second and his eyes grew wide. "_Maggie_, _no_!" he shouted.

Maggie heard Rick yell to her. Beneath her, she saw the soldier's eyes fly open as the knife started its downward arc. Behind the balaclava the soldier's eyes were blue, sky blue and they registered confusion and surprise. They were not dead eyes, they were not walker's eyes. She knew them in an instant. They were Daryl's eyes.

Daryl's reflexes were sluggish and he brought up his arm and ducked his head beneath it slower than he usually would have but quickly enough to block the incoming blow.

Maggie tried to stop but before she could, the momentum of her downward swing brought the knife down as Daryl's arm came up and the sharp knife bit into the underside of his forearm. It sliced through the camouflage shirt leaving a gash. A red stain started to spread across the shirt sleeve above the cut.

Daryl dropped his arm and groaned. "Fuck's sake," he mumbled, still groggy. "'S it fuckin'... 'kill Daryl Dixon Day' ..er sumthin'?"

Maggie dropped the knife and moved off of Daryl's chest. Her eyes were wide and she looked horrified. Rick, Dale and Carol were suddenly there with her.

"Daryl? This is Daryl? He's not dead?" Carol was almost frantic. She wrung her hands and crouched down next to his legs.

"Yeah," Rick said. "I figured you all knew by now."

Carol smiled as she brushed tears from her cheeks.

"You figured we _knew by now_?" Maggie shouted, tears springing to her eyes. "Did you _see _what I almost _did_?! _Did you?!"_

Rick looked at Maggie. She was distraught. "I'm sorry."

Maggie was furious. "You're sorry? _You're sorry!_? I almost killed my best friend and you're _sorry_?"

"Look, he was still fighting when I went to tend to Andrea! The hostiles were not firing on him because they thought he was one of their own! I figured the reunion had happened when the fight was over! I thought you already knew!"

Daryl was sick of this shit. He tried to sit up but was overcome by dizziness. "_Shut up_!"he barked. "Cut tha fuckin' drama y'all, 'kay? Mah head already aches like hell an' yer fuckin' _yellin'_ ain't helpin' none."

Maggie lowered her head and said, "Sorry."

Rick apologized, too.

* * *

Rick and Dale each got on one side of Daryl and hauled him up so he was sitting with his back against the wall. Rick reached down to pull the balaclava off him as Maggie pulled off her outer shirt and gently pulled up Daryl's shirt sleeve so she could see how bad the cut on his forearm was.

Rick finished removing the balaclava and Daryl leaned against the wall and looked around with half closed eyes at the people surrounding him. His head was pounding, his side hurt and now there was a burning sensation in his left forearm; a new addition to the pain-fest.

Carol and Maggie both winced. Daryl had already looked pathetic with the black eye that Glenn had given him and the still fading bruises on his neck. Now he had a large bump with a gash in the middle of his forehead that obviously needed stitches. The blood ran down between his eyebrows and spread down both sides of his nose.. Removing the balaclava had smudged it around on his face as well. The whole right side of his face was a purplish hue, indicating more bruising to come and the right side of his head had a large bump on it as well.

Rick, as usual, had his face right in front of Daryl's, invading his personal space. "Holy shit, brother, " Rick said quietly. "You look like you just went twenty rounds with Mike Tyson."

Daryl offered up the tiniest of smirks. "Mah ears... still all there? No pieces missin'?" he asked.

Dale swallowed hard. The poor guy looked like he'd had the hell beaten out of him and Dale knew that he was responsible for the injuries to the right side of Daryl's head and his face. After all, he'd kicked him twice in the head good and hard, thinking he was one of the attacking soldiers.

Glenn came walking down the hall from the office with Andrea, who was leaning on him for support. In addition to being hit in the right shoulder by a bullet, a bullet had also grazed her right arm. They stopped in front of where Daryl sat against the wall and Andrea took a good look at this face. "Oh Daryl, I'm so sorry." she said when she saw the large bump and the cut in the middle of his forehead.

Daryl raised his half-opened eyes to look at Andrea. "Ya din't know." he mumbled.

"I'm still sorry." she said. It was so nice to hear his voice, she decided, even if he was just mumbling. Damn, she was glad that he was alive. Glenn tugged on her arm and she and Glenn continued down the hall to the med room.

Daryl closed his eyes and waited for his head to stop spinning. Carol leaned forward and looked closer at the injuries on Daryl's face. She reached out and ran her finger lightly over the bump on Daryl's head and he jerked away from her. He opened his eyes and looked at her as she smiled at him.

"Carol. Please. Don't fuckin' touch me. That _hurt_."

Carol nodded. "I'm sorry, Daryl. It does look very painful."

Daryl chuckled and smiled at the ridiculousness of it all. "So why ya touchin' it?"

"How bad is it?" Carol asked.

"Hurts ta even fuckin' think." Daryl said tiredly, closing his eyes again.

Rick looked at Daryl and then at Maggie. "Maggie? Should someone go get your father, or is this something you think you can handle?"

Maggie noticed the blood stain near Daryl's open wound. "I'll take a look at things first. We don't know if anyone else is out there waiting to attack us again. I really do think Dad needs to see Andrea's bullet wound, and he really should see Daryl, too."

Maggie slid up next to Daryl. "Hey Tiger, " she said. "You don't know how happy I am that you're alive. We're going to take care of you but I need to know the extent of your injuries. Can you tell me if you've been shot or stabbed?"

"Ah'm sick n' tired a ever'one wantin' ta take care a me. I ain't been shot." he half spoke, half whispered. "Stupid farm girl ah know stabbed me with a knife...used ta be mine."

Maggie smiled and nodded. "She might have mistaken you for someone else."

Daryl barely shook his head. "Don't matter. Always be sure a yer target. Always."

"C'mon," Rick said to Dale. "Lets help him into the med room." He and Dale hauled Daryl to his feet and helped Daryl as he walked down the hall. Maggie had tied her shirt around the wound on Daryl's forearm and Rick was careful not to touch or accidentally bump that part of his arm.

* * *

Lori and Carl were talking with Andrea as Lori adjusted Andrea's shoulder dressing when Rick and Dale came through the room with Daryl on their way to the med room. Carol and Maggie were right behind them.

Carl peeked at Daryl as he passed by. After the med room door was closed, Carl looked at this mother . "Wow, did you see that? Daryl looks worse than Rocky did after Apollo Creed kicked his ass."

"Carl!" Lori scolded. "We don't talk like that!"

"You and Dad do."

"We're adults, we're allowed to."

Carl looked at his mother thoughtfully. He cleared his throat and said, "Isn't that sort of backwards? I mean, if I say something like that, or cuss, you can say that I'm young and I didn't know better or I forgot my manners. What excuse do you and Dad have? You say that swearing and cussing is bad and that I shouldn't do it. You're older, so shouldn't you have stopped cussing and swearing and shouldn't you know how to follow the rules by now?"

Lori sighed and pulled her son into a hug. "You know what?" she said, "You would have made a great politician."

* * *

Dale and Rick helped Daryl to sit down in a chair against the wall in the med room. Daryl noticed that Dale kept looking at him, looking at his face and the shirt wrapped around his arm. A couple of times Dale opened his mouth like he wanted to say something to him. Maggie was unlacing Daryl's too tight boots and Daryl caught Dale staring at the right side of his face again. He sighed. "Sumthin' ya wanna say, Dale?" he asked.

Dale looked surprised. "What? Oh...no. Not...not at all."

Dale was worried. He had looked Daryl over and had come to a rather sad and alarming conclusion. All of Daryl's new injuries; _all_ of them, had been inflicted by members of his own group. Andrea had caused the large lump and the gash in the middle of his forehead, Dale himself had caused the swelling and bruises and scrapes to the right side of Daryl's face and Maggie had sliced his arm open. The older injuries the man carried were courtesy of group members as well. Glenn had given Daryl the black eye that still was present, although it had faded somewhat. Shane had been responsible for the injuries where Daryl's bolt injury had been repaired and Shane was responsible for the bruises that still ringed Daryl's neck.

The whole situation made Dale sick to his stomach. Daryl would have been better off if he had never told the rest of the group about this place. He was hesitant to tell Daryl that he was the one who had kicked him in the head. Daryl already had a problem with self loathing and felt like he was worthless. What on earth would he think when he realized that the injuries he'd sustained while trying to protect the group and the house from invaders were inflicted by the very people he was trying to protect? As far as Dale could tell, the invaders hadn't laid a hand on him.

* * *

Daryl leaned back in the chair and gingerly felt the new bumps on his head. The one on his forehead felt like it was huge. "Bet ah look like tha' kid in 'Mask'," he grumbled. He pulled his bloody fingers from his forehead wound and wiped them on his pants.

Rick pulled a chair over and sat next to Daryl. Daryl looked at him out of the corner of his eye. His peripheral vision was still dark and fuzzy and he leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt like the floor was moving beneath his feet and that the chair he was sitting in was a seat on a roller-coaster. He swayed slightly as his mind made him feel like he was being rocked and bumped and moved from side to side. Maggie's shirt tied around his forearm had soaked through in one spot and the cut beneath the shirt gave the sensation of burning and wasn't all too painful. His old wound was a different story. It was painful and getting worse. At this point, though, it wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He swayed again to the right as the floor rocked beneath him.

"Ya getting' sea sick? Need a barf bucket, Darleena?"

Daryl felt Rick's hand push his shoulder against the wall and he instinctively pulled away so fast that he almost slid off the chair.

"Sorry." Rick said. "I thought you were going to pass out."

"Nah," Daryl mumbled," jes' a lil' dizzy is all."

Carol had left the room moments ago and now returned with two gel ice packs wrapped in clean hand towels. She handed one to Rick and one to Daryl and addressed both of them. "These will help take down the swelling. "

Daryl nodded his thanks and pressed the ice pack gently against the bump on his forehead and Rick thanked her and held his ice pack to his swollen and quickly bruising cheek.

Carol told Daryl and Rick she was going to check on Andrea and she'd be back later.

A few minutes later Rick stood and addressed Daryl. "I'm going to go talk to Carl and Lori. They were going to come in here but I don't want to distract Maggie when she starts to stitch you up."

Daryl grunted in acknowledgment and Rick walked away.

Daryl leaned his head against the wall behind him again and closed his eyes. The cold pack felt good against the lump on his forehead. A very small smile played at the corner of his lips. How many times now had he hit his head or been hit in the head by someone else in the last couple of weeks? Story of my life, he thought. Over the course of years, his pa and Merle had both clobbered him in the head more times than he could count. Then there were bar fights and fights in general and there had been a motorcycle accident when he was twenty-two where he struck a tree after drinking a fifth of Yukon Jack and a six-pack of Coors Light. He had awakened hours later in the tall grass where he had landed when the impact had thrown him a good twenty feet from the bike. If he'd gone straight into the tree, he wouldn't have ever woke up again. He had staggered the three miles home, dizzy and still drunk and had collapsed on his bed. He had slept for five days and it was only after Merle came home after a long weekend at the apartment of his whore of the week and saw that his little brother was in the same clothes and in the same position he had been in when Merle had left that Daryl was violently shaken awake. Merle loved his little brother in his own way and didn't want to see him dead or anything, but he hadn't had any qualms about hitting Daryl in the face moments later when he discovered Daryl had wrecked his bike.

"Yeah, " sighed Imaginary Merle. "Good times."

Daryl was quite sure that both Imaginary Merle and brain farts were at least in part due to years of repeated head trauma.

"Nah, baby brother. You 'as jes' a born weirdo right from day one."

* * *

Maggie pulled a small wheeled table over next to Daryl. "I need to get a few things and then I'll get that arm stitched up. Okay?"

Daryl nodded without looking at her.

She sat down in a chair next to him. "We need to get you out of that shirt, too," she said as she studied his arm with her shirt wrapped around it. "I think cutting it off of you would be the least painful way of removing it."

Daryl turned his eyes to her and gave her a half smile. Her blurry face danced in front of him. "Ya like destroyin' mah clothes or do ya jes' like seein' me shirtless?"

Maggie brought her eyes up and met Daryl's. She noticed immediately that his irises seemed to shift slightly left and then right and that his pupils were dilated so that only a small edge of brilliant blue was visible. Daryl looked like hell. The right side of his face and his forehead was swollen and his face was bruised and bloodied. His old wound was bleeding again and she would have to get to that soon and dammit, she herself was responsible for the gash on his arm; and yet here he was, joking with her. She looked into his eyes deeper. " I just like seeing you shirtless," she said. "Now its my turn to ask a question. Can you see alright?" she asked him.

Daryl squinted at her. "No. Things 'r fuzzy, outta focus. Spotty. Ah got tunnel vision. Ya know.. all tha shit tha' happens when ya get knocked good in tha head."

Maggie nodded. "Do you feel nauseous?"

"No."

Maggie nodded. "Okay," she said as she stood up. " I'll be right back."

She walked away and Daryl closed his eyes again.

* * *

A moment later he felt a hand on his right hand and opened his eyes. Carol was sitting in the chair Maggie had vacated.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"'Bout as good as ah look."

Carol smiled. They'd had that exact conversation a few weeks ago.

Daryl pulled the cold pack away from his forehead for a second and nodded towards it. "Thanks for this," he mumbled.

Carol beamed. "Its the least I could do for you. Is it helping?"

Daryl nodded.

Carol took a deep breath. "We saw you in the woods on one of the monitors. Well, it wasn't you, obviously, but we thought it was. It looked like you'd been shot. You scared all of us. We thought you were dead. We all felt awful and it's just so wonderful that you're here and ….." she was going to say "and that you're okay," but Daryl didn't look like he felt too 'okay' so she stopped there. "I was inconsolable." Carol said quietly. "You have no idea how much you mean to me."

Daryl fixed his wavering eyes on Carol for a second and then looked down.

Carol saw it clear as day when he looked at her. Doubt. He didn't believe it. "Daryl," she said as she reached over and rubbed his right shoulder. "I really mean that."

Daryl didn't speak but started chewing on his right thumbnail What was left of it, anyway.

Carol was silent and continued to rub Daryl's shoulder. She was actually surprised that he hadn't tried to pull away from her. She watched him as he moved his calloused hand away from his mouth. He looked at the floor and away from her and she thought she heard him exhale a whisper-quiet sigh.

"Ah don't mean shit ta ya. Ah couldn't find yer girl, I fucked up an' ya keep wantin' ta talk 'bout it but ah can't. I tol' ya ah can't. Whadda ya want from me?" he asked her quietly "Ah don't know whatcha want and ah got nothin' ta give ya. Nothin. "

Carol tightened her grip on Daryl's shoulder. "I do care about you and I want you to stop feeling guilty. I want you to look at me when I speak to you and I want to be your friend and I want you to be mine."

"Ah ain't good at the 'friend' thing," he said, not moving his gaze from the floor.

It was out before Carol could hold her tongue and she regretted it the minute she said it. "You don't seem to have a problem being friends with Maggie."

Daryl lifted his head and looked at Carol with narrowed eyes. What could he say to that?

Carol's eyes got wide and she stood up before Daryl could speak.. "I'm sorry…I didn't mean… ," she didn't finish her sentence but hurried off towards the door.

Daryl watched her go and then leaned back again and closed his eyes. What the hell had that been all about?


	58. Chapter 58

Daryl took a deep breath and slowly got to his feet.

"And just where do you think you're going?" A voice behind him said.

Daryl bit his lower lip. "Nowhere now, I guess."

Maggie nodded toward the chair Daryl had just risen from. "Sit down."

Daryl did as he was told.

Maggie placed a bundle wrapped in a towel on the little table next to Daryl's chair. She unfolded the towel edges to reveal several items. A bottle of betadine, two needles and syringes, two curved suture needles and suture thread, a large pile of gauze, a tiny liquid filled injection vial, surgical tape and a big pair of black handled scissors. She picked up the scissors and snipped them at him. "Lets get that shirt off of you," she said and snipped them again for emphasis.

"I can probably just pull it off," Daryl suggested and he stretched out his left arm. The muscle in his forearm cramped. "Fuck!" he growled.

"Alrighty then." Maggie said and she gently placed Daryl's left hand on the towel draped little table. She cut through the hem of the shirt cuff and then slowly cut up the length of the sleeve along Daryl's arm to the shoulder being careful not to bump or drag the scissors against his skin.

"Jes' don' cut me again." Daryl said as the scissors snipped the fabric above his skin.

Maggie gave him a dirty look. "I didn't know it was you," she snapped.

She was very careful to avoid the shirt she'd tied around Daryl's knife wound. "Okay, tilt your head to the right," she instructed.

He did as she asked and she snipped the shirt along the top of Daryl's left shoulder to the double stitched seam at the neckline. She cut through that as well and then through the collar. The shirt sleeve fell away from his arm.

"I got the rest," Daryl said and he unbuttoned the shirt with his right hand. He slid the ruined shirt off his right arm and if fell to the floor.

Maggie gently untied the shirt she'd placed around Daryl's forearm and inspected his cut. The cut was deep at the initial point where the knife had entered his arm and the bleeding had slowed considerably. The rest of the laceration was relatively shallow. She examined the area around the injury and she could see extensive bruising. "Can you wiggle your fingers for me?" she asked.

Daryl wiggled his fingers.

"Good, now can you clench your fist and then extend your fingers?"

Daryl did as he was asked. He then folded all his fingers into his palm except for the middle one and smirked.

"Cute." Maggie said and she moved her gaze from his hand to his face in time to catch the smirk he'd given her. She grabbed the small bottle and one of the syringes. "It doesn't look like any tendons were damaged. I'm going to inject a little Novocaine around the wound so it won't bother you as much when I stitch it up."

Daryl nodded. He'd been stitched up several times before with nothing to numb the lacerated area. This was going to be a piece of cake.

Maggie drew the Novocaine from the bottle into the syringe and then wiped off the skin around Daryl's cut with an alcohol wipe. His arm twitched and he flinched as some of the alcohol came into contact with his open wound. " Sorry about that," she said.

He silently watched as she injected the Novocaine in five spots areas around his wound and then sewed up the cut with a speed and proficiency that Daryl had never seen. "You're good at doin' that." He commented.

Maggie smiled. "I like to sew and embroider so I've had a lot of practice. Sort of. I mean, sewing up people is different, of course. Want me to go back and embroider a little bow or bolt on it for you?"

"Sure," Daryl said "an' when you're done you can pierce my ears an' tattoo Tinkerbell on my ass."

Maggie had just taped a dressing over the stitches and she bit her lip and met Daryl's eyes with hers. His irises were still a bit twitchy but it was easy to see the amusement in his eyes. How could he do that? She rolled the table aside and reached her hand out to him. "Okay, time to get back to the old routine. Get on the gurney and let me check your wound."

Daryl waved her hand away and slowly got to his feet. "Ain't no invalid," he grumbled. He slowly walked to the oh so familiar table. He felt like he was walking on the deck of a ship at sea as it rode huge waves. Back and forth the floor swayed.

Maggie threw a fresh sheet over the gurney and then turned back to Daryl. He was walking slowly like he was unsure of himself and he was actually weaving slightly left and then right. "Are you okay?" she asked him.

Daryl had reached the foot of the gurney and grabbed onto it with his right hand to steady himself. He leaned on it as he made his way to the side of it.

Maggie knew better than to ask him if he needed any help. She watched him as he rested his butt on the edge of the gurney and then placed his right hand down to brace himself. He didn't want to put any pressure on his left arm and as Maggie watched he hopped up onto the table and then swung his legs around. He lowered his back onto the table and stretched out before he intertwined his fingers and rested his hands on his chest. He sucked in a breath and closed his eyes.

Daryl was relieved to be lying down, even though he still felt like the ground beneath him was rocking and turning. His wound was throbbing and he opened his eyes and took a peek down at the bandage that covered it. It was bloody, but not soaked. That was a relief. He closed his eyes and waited for Maggie to tell him what to do next. He had almost fallen asleep when he realized that Maggie hadn't said anything. He opened one eye and glanced over to where she had been arranging things on that silly little table and she was gone. She must have forgotten something, he thought. He closed his eyes again and had started to drift off to sleep when he heard someone far away calling to him.

"Daryl? Daryl?"

"Whut?" he muttered.

"Wake up. Come on. Up and at 'em. Your fifteen minute nap time is over."

Daryl yawned and looked at Maggie with sleepy eyes. The dizziness had finally passed and he could actually see straight and his peripheral vision had returned.

"'Kay, boss. Now what?" he asked.

"I need to repack your wound. I didn't want to dose you without letting you know."

"So you woke me up to tell me you're gonna put me to sleep?"

Maggie nodded.

Daryl furrowed his brow and started to chew his right thumbnail. "No. I wanna watch."

Maggie shook her head. "No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? You said it's been healin' really well. You said it's only 'bout two inches deep now. O can handle it an' I'm sick a bein' sedated like I'm some sort a fuckin' farm animal ever' time this thing needs tendin' to."

"Daryl, you don't want to be awake for this. Trust me."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Maggie and snorted. "What, you think I'm some sort a pussy? I ain't lettin' you give me nothin', now take the fuckin' bandage off an' show me how to pack the fucker. I've heard a other people packin' their own wounds at home."

Maggie stared at Daryl like he was nuts. "You want me to show you how to pack your own wound?"

"That's what I said," Daryl snapped.

Maggie glared at him and reached for the syringe next to the gauze on the small table.

"Oh no you don't." Daryl growled as he slid off the other side of the gurney.

Maggie went from angry to furious in one second flat.

"Daryl Lee Dixon, you get back on this gurney right now! I'm just getting this out in case you change your mind during the procedure! Hell, I'll let you hang on to the damned thing if you want to!"

Daryl frowned. The only times he could recall when his middle name was tossed in between his first and last one was when he was small and his mother had been scolding him and the three and a half years that Lily had occasionally used it, usually when declaring her love for him. How the hell did Maggie know it anyway? "Stop talkin' to me like I was a lil' kid, dammit," he snarled. "I'm a lot older an' you are an' it ain't fittin'."

Maggie sighed. "Why are you such a stubborn asshole?" she grouched.

"Same reason you're such a control happy wench." he replied grumpily.

"Fine," she said and she offered the syringe with the sodium pentothol to him. He took it from her hand without a 'thank you' and slid it behind his ear like he used to do with cigarettes back when had been a smoker.

Maggie rolled her eyes and Daryl narrowed his and glared at her. What the hell was her problem all of the sudden?

Maggie put on a pair of surgical gloves and pulled at the adhesive border of the top dressing. "Okay, here we go. Oh, by the way, just thought you might want to know. This is going to hurt." She tossed the outer dressing into the garbage. "A _lot_. You sure you don't want...?"

"I'm sure."

The packing gauze in the wound was bloody and slimy with exudate. Maggie was pleased that the healing tissues hadn't bled as heavily as she thought they had and that the blood had not pooled in the wound. She picked up a pair of surgical tweezers in her right hand and reached into Daryl's wound and snagged a piece of bloody gauze. She slowly pulled the gauze out of the wound with the tweezers. Daryl watched with fascination as he wrestled with the pain. It seemed like there was an endless amount of gauze unfurling from inside of him. Maggie was feeding the gauze she pulled out of Daryl into a basin and it was piling up in it. She had almost reached the end and some of the gauze had been embedded in some new tissue growth. Maggie gave the stuck strip of gauze a good yank to free it from the newly formed muscle tissue. Daryl roared. "_Son of a mother fucking bitch!"_

The med room door flew open a few seconds later and Glenn jumped into the room. His face wore a combination of fear and concern. "What happened? Are you okay?" he asked Daryl.

"Just fine." Daryl said from between clenched teeth.

Glenn looked at Maggie for confirmation. She meet Glenn's gaze. "Yep. He's just finer than frog's hair."

Glenn looked back at Daryl. The man had closed his eyes and his brow was furrowed like he was thinking hard about something.

He looked back at Maggie and her face was an emotionless blank.

"Okay. We're clearing the bodies out of the hall. Just holler if you need something." Glenn looked at Daryl's scowling face and then at Maggie's. "Or not." Glenn added and he left the room and closed the door.

Maggie put a towel on Daryl's stomach next to his wound and then directed a stream of saline from a sterile bottle into it. The water turned a greenish red as it removed blood and exudate and Maggie caught the water with the towel as it overflowed onto Daryl's stomach. She rinsed the wound again and then looked up at Daryl. His eyes were closed and he'd draped his right forearm over his eyes. For a second she thought he'd passed out until she saw him peeking at her from under his forearm. "This part is going to hurt." she told him.

"You mean the other part din't?"

Maggie ignored his comment. "Now if you want to be doing this yourself, pay attention."

Daryl pulled his arm away from his eyes.

Maggie held up some cotton swabs. "First you need to wipe off any of the gunk that's stuck to the walls of the wound when you're done rinsing it. We use these cotton swabs to do that. You also need to remove any necrotic tissue. We use the tweezers and sometimes a scalpel if its necessary. I'm going to swab the wound now." She poked one of the cotton swabs down into the open wound and brushed it along the healing walls.

Daryl flinched and his breath hitched.

Maggie looked up at him. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked.

"No." he said through clenched teeth.

"She moved the swab around in the wound an bit more and felt Daryl's whole body tense. "Okay," Maggie said. She showed him a small basin with a loose pile of wet gauze packing in it. "This is cotton gauze wrap that has been soaked in sterile water. I crushed up an antihistamine tablet and mixed it in to help with the itching. The gauze has to be damp but not soaking wet. It cannot be dry though."

Daryl nodded.

Maggie took off her gloves. "You throw away the gloves you used to extract the packing, wash your hands and put on a new pair of gloves." she told him as she moved over to the sink to wash her hands.

Daryl nodded. This had not been one of his best ideas. When Maggie had been swabbing the walls of the wound it felt like an electric current was zapping his whole body every time she touched his flesh with the swab. Now the worst part was coming up, he was sure. If the swabbing of the wound had been painful, the packing was probably really going to suck. He would not let her say "I told you so." He was going to man up, push the pain down and learn how to do this for himself.

Maggie put on a fresh pair of gloves and came back around next to the table that held her supplies. "Okay, she said as she grasped the moist piece of gauze by one end. "You start by inserting the tip of the strip of gauze into the wound." She pushed the piece of gauze down inside it.

Daryl took a deep breath.

"Then you have to push it down into the bottom of the opening with a swab." She held up a cotton swab to show it to him and then most of it disappeared into his wound and a bolt of pain jolted him as the swab pushed the gauze into his raw flesh. She kept on feeding the gauze into the wound and pushing it down with the swab. A spasm rocked Daryl's body as she pushed the gauze down deeper and she looked at him with concern. "How you doin'?" she asked him.

He sucked in a breath and squeaked, "Fine. Fine." and grit his teeth.

Maggie felt bad. She knew this had to be extremely painful, but if the stubborn ass wanted to see how this was done, who was she to deny him? Someone with compassion, that's who. She hated to see him in pain and she hated the fact that he would actually choose to let himself suffer when he didn't have to. Why did he feel he deserved that?

She finished packing the wound and covered it with a clear "second skin" top dressing bandage. "Okay, all finished with this one," she announced.

Daryl nodded and she could see the pain in his eyes.

Maggie was relieved. The hardest and probably the most painful part was over.

"Daryl, I need to sew up that gash on your forehead."

Maggie cleaned out Daryl's head wound and stitched it closed. He was quiet as she worked and she didn't speak either. She kept looking down to see if she could catch a glimpse of those pale blue eyes but he kept them closed. If she didn't know better she would have thought he was ignoring her. When she finally stepped back to admire her handiwork, he swung his legs over and sat on the edge of the gurney. He glanced at her and then glanced away. "Thanks," he said and he started to stand.

"Where are you going?" Maggie asked him.

"To my room and then out to get my Rugers. Had to hide em' in the woods." He pushed himself off the table and held the side of it for a moment. He wasn't as dizzy as he had been and the floor was now behaving as any good floor should and not moving around at all. He was sure she'd start in on him about why that wasn't a good idea, but she didn't.

"Just a minute," Maggie said as she reached up and plucked the syringe from behind his ear. She put it behind her ear and reached into the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a small bottle and stepped over to where Daryl stood and held it out to him. "Tylenol with codeine. Don't be a stubborn asshole. Take it. Use it. Okay?"

Daryl bit his tongue and nodded once as he took the bottle from her and shoved it into his pant's pocket. It was hard not to give a snarky reply, but he figured his silence would be sufficient. Why the hell was she suddenly acting so cold toward him? What had he done? Did his playful remark about the Tinkerbell ass-tattoo offend her? How did he fix this? What the hell business did she have being mad at him? The urge to throw a PMS/Midol related comment at her popped up and he wrestled with it for a moment and then he was stepping into the war room.

* * *

Maggie watched Daryl leave the room and then she sank into a chair. How could he be so 'in control'? How could he just blow off what had happened? She felt ashamed and guilty about what she'd done and while he had chided her about stabbing him and she had gotten defensive, he hadn't come right out and given her hell. She wished in a way that he had. She was feeling so conflicted. He wanted to know how to pack his wound. Obviously, he didn't want her to do it anymore and it was obvious that he didn't wish to continue their friendship. She'd really messed things up. Maybe it was better this way. She had been completely crushed when she thought Daryl was dead and she'd entertained all sorts of thoughts about things she wished she'd told him or said to him. She was going to let Glenn know how she'd felt and maybe he would understand why she was taking Daryl's death as hard as she was and maybe he would forgive her. Daryl was alive and to Maggie it was like a damned miracle. She was so thankful but she knew that she would never have the courage or the nerve to say the things she had wanted to say to him. He would laugh at her and it would destroy her relationship with Glenn. She would have to let Daryl pull away and just be content to love him from afar.

* * *

The war room was empty. Daryl heard voices coming from behind the living quarters room door. Carol, Lori and Andrea were talking. He considered poking his head in the door and asking Andrea how she was, but he decided he didn't want to deal with any more estrogen producing members of the human race that day.

He quietly stepped out into the hallway. The dead soldiers' bodies were gone and the floor in the hall was littered with bullet casings and wood splinters. There were puddles of blood coagulating on the floor as well. Daryl was barefoot and cautiously picked his way through the refuse on the floor. He stopped for a moment to run his fingers across a section of the wall that was ragged with bullet holes, broken sheet rock and wooden splinters. He looked down the length of both walls and scowled as he assessed the damages. What a fuckin' mess. It was going to take a lot of work to get the third floor back into shape.

As Daryl descended the stairs to the second floor, he heard gunshots from outside. Shit, were they under attack again? He jumped the next few stairs and almost fell, grabbing the railing to steady himself when his head punished him for moving too fast. He entered Carl's room. The window was still open and a ragged pale blue curtain twisted in the breeze. Daryl could see the damages the enemies bullets had done to the room. He sighed as he approached the open window. More work that would need to be done. He ventured a peek around the window casing and saw Glenn and Rick stacking bodies, both soldiers and walkers, just outside the fence. Dale was shooting walkers that approached. Glenn and Rick had two piles and there were still some bodies littering the ground nearby. He should go out and help them.

"Help 'em how? S'pose you could git out to where them walkers is comin' in from and yell "boo" at 'em. Tha way your face is lookin', boy, you'd scare tha shit right outta the dead."

Daryl left the room and made his way down the stairs and to his own room. He closed and locked the door behind him and unbuckled his belt. The camouflage pants dropped to his ankles and he stepped out of them. He hooked the waistband with a toe and lifted his foot so he could grab the damned things. He threw them in the trash can, belt and all after pulling the small bottle of Tylenol with Codeine out of the pocket and throwing it on his dresser. He had stashed his own belt with the double holster and the Rugers beneath the raised roots of an oak tree in the woods.

He scanned the room. His crossbow was leaning against the night stand where it belonged and his Aztec print wool serape was still draped over the end of the bed. He smirked. Clint Eastwood and Robin Hood? What would a combination of the two of them be called? Clobin Hoodwood?

Daryl trudged into the bathroom. He needed a shower. He stopped at the sink and looked in the mirror and then wished that he hadn't. Was that really his face? Imaginary Merle was right. That face would scare walkers. He was hideous. Maybe that was why Maggie had been cool towards him. She didn't want to have to look at him.

He lightly brushed his hair away from the bulging bump on his forehead. "Shit…I look like Beldar Conehead," he mumbled. He looked at himself with disgust as he examined the right side of his face. It was swollen and had already begun to turn purple.

"Best stay away from lil' children an' women fer a while, Darleena. YOU don' wanna cause a panic or scare no one to death."

Daryl pulled the bandage off the stitches in his head and threw it in the garbage. He checked the clear top dressing on his abdominal wound and made sure there were no loose edges. The stitches in his left arm had little crusty bits of dried blood between them. To hell with covering it up with a waterproof dressing. He'd wash the dry blood off it and dry it off really well when he was done. He started the shower and when it was lukewarm, he stepped beneath it. His head was still a little foggy, so he reached for the river-stone and mortar wall. He propped himself against it with his outstretched right arm as the water cascaded over his shoulders. Daryl gently ran a soapy sponge over his face and neck and then moved down to his chest and hips, then up and down each arm.

He started thinking about the events of the day and of the last few weeks and then of the last few months.

"You know they's only bein' nice to you 'cause you let 'em move in here." Imaginary Merle said. "Blondie hit you in the head on purpose."

"She din't know it was me."

Imaginary Merle snorted. "Like hell she din't. You started speakin' to her afore she hit cha. An' farmer's daughter. She fuckin' stabbed ya!"

"Was a mistake."

"Ya think? She wan't actin' like she was too glad you're still aroun' when she was patchin' you up. An' you got kicked in the head. Who you think did that?"

"Don' know."

"Was one a your 'friends' in your group, dummy. Who else? Them soldiers thought you was one a them. Bet it was tha ol' man or the chink. Ask 'em! They's too dumb to lie 'bout it."

Daryl's self esteem was already in the toilet and Imaginary Merle continued to goad him.

"None a'em like you. They's jes' usin' you. Roof over their heads, food. Weapons. Tell you, baby brother. I don't see nothin' in it for you. Don't know why you're still hangin' with 'em."

Daryl leaned against the wall and slid down it's wet, bumpy surface until he was sitting on the floor. He pulled his legs in against his chest and wrapped his arms around his knees as he rested his head against the wall. Merle was right. Andrea had hit him in the head, Maggie had stabbed him and either Glenn or Dale had kicked him in the head. All this in one damned day!

"One damn day?" Imaginary Merle scoffed. "Try all within less 'an a damn hour."

Daryl's head was spinning and everything around him shifted into shades of gray and white. He hugged his knees tighter as his mind tumbled and rolled and the water rained down on him.

Even Maggie had been cold. She had helped him, but she had done it because she felt she had to. She'd only been nice to him because she had to be. That was how it was with all of them. They didn't give a shit about him. He was nothing but redneck trash and that is all he ever would be. He shivered as he realized that his injuries had all been caused by people that claimed to care about him while actually despising him. Why did the people he ended up caring about or at least trying to care about always hurt him? Always. His father, his brother, and now the group he had been determined to protect and look out for.

"I'm the only one that'll ever care 'bout you. Don't you ever forget it. Blood is blood." Merle's words echoed in Daryl's head. He sat against the bathroom wall beneath the shower until the water ran ice cold.

* * *

"Do you think thats all of them?" Glenn asked Rick as they watched the fire burn.

Rick watched the flames as if he were mesmerized. "For now. It was probably a blessing in disguise that the gunfire attracted the walkers. At least now they're not wandering around in the woods."

"I meant the soldiers," Glenn clarified.

"I think so. Of course, I don't know if any of what Wallace told us is true. If there are more of them out there and they were waiting to hear back from the group that attacked us, maybe they'll think twice before bothering us. I know this group was surprised to find out that we'd gotten into the war room and that we were using weapons on par with theirs. I think they thought we were an easy target." Rick kicked a stone away from the fire and looked at Glenn. "What do you think?"

Glenn sighed. "I think we were damned lucky, but I don't know if we're safe here. I'm not sure if we should stay."

Rick cocked his head and gave Glenn a look of surprise. "Are you serious? If we'd put up the razor wire a few days ago those guys never would have even made it over the fence. The fence keeps the walkers out, we have food, we have power, we have a weapons cache to rival any around and you don't think we should stay?"

"What if others come and want to take it from us?"

"Then we fight to keep it, like we did today."

Glenn looked at Rick and Rick could see the doubt in Glenn's eyes.

Rick licked his lips and put his hands on his hips. "Look, Glenn," he said, "We weren't ready for an attack today. We weren't prepared. We made a mistake, but we won't make that mistake again. We'll sit down and come up with a plan or plans to follow in case someone else tries to attack us. We'll set up more cameras, alarms, post watches. We can do this, Glenn. I like this place. We have power, we have food, we have weapons. I don't know about you, but I'm tired of being on the move and Hershel has been wonderful to us, but we wore out our welcome there a long time ago. I feel that with some adjustments, we can all be safe here. Safer than anywhere else I can think of right now." He patted Glenn on the shoulder. "Think about it. Would you and Maggie be any safer anywhere else?"

Glenn stared into the fire for minute, then turned back to Rick. He smiled and adjusted the baseball cap on his head. "No. Probably not."


	59. Chapter 59

Rick watched the fire as it consumed the bodies of the soldiers and the walkers. He and Glenn had gathered the soldier's firearms that were scattered near their bodies before they moved them out of the house and then they had searched the soldiers' pockets for ammo and anything that was salvageable before putting the bodies in a pile for burning. They were very thorough in their search as one missed bullet when exposed to fire would explode and could possibly injure someone.

A couple of the soldiers had small bags of beef jerky stuffed in their ammo bags and Glenn grabbed all the sealed and unopened bags of the dried meat that he could find. "Look at all of this jerky!" he exclaimed with a big smile on his face as he held up several bags for Rick to see.

Rick made a face. "You like that crap? I've had my fill of venison jerky. I hope I never see the stuff again. It's like chewing on an old leather shoe but with less flavor."

"How many old shoes have you chewed on so that you'd know that? Besides, you're talking about _venison_ jerky. This is _beef_jerky. I'm not too fond of this stuff but Daryl loves it. When he took me hunting that one time he had brought venison jerky for both of us and he said it was okay, but he would have loved to have still had some beef jerky because you don't have to strain your jaw chewing it for an hour before you can swallow it."

Rick smiled. "Like I said…venison jerky equals old shoe leather."

Dale came over to join Rick and Glenn as he slung his trusty 30-.06 over his shoulder. "I think that's all the walkers that were attracted by the gunfire." He reported. "Of course, we should check in another half hour or so to see if the noise I made taking care of this batch of walkers calls in more of them."

A door slammed and the three of the men turned towards the house in unison.

* * *

Daryl had just emerged from his room and Rick watched with a small smile as the man reopened the door slowly and closed it again a couple of times while inspecting the door casing and the hinges and testing the fit of the door.

Daryl was examining his new door when he felt eyes upon him. He turned and saw Dale, Glenn and Rick watching him. He gave them a nod and then walked across the lawn in the opposite direction towards the gate by the driveway. He was almost at the gate when he heard hurried footsteps behind him.

"Hey, Daryl, hold up!"

Daryl stopped and rolled his eyes. It was Glenn. He turned to face the young man. "Whatcha want?" he snapped. Glenn's eyes widened and Daryl wasn't sure if it was because he'd snapped at Glenn or if it was Glenn's reaction to seeing his hideous looking face up close and personal.

"Uh….where are you going?" Glenn asked.

"Why" 's' it your day to watch me?"

"No…but if you need some help or want some company I could go with you."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Glenn and Glenn took a step backward without even realizing he was doing so. Glenn had always found Daryl's glares to be intimidating and none had ever been so much as this one. Was it the black eye that made it so scary? The bruised face? The stitched and bruising bump on his head? Or was it the combination of all of them wrapped up together as pale icy blue eyes pierced him with their cold, menacing stare.

Daryl turned away from him and started walking again. He waved a hand in Glenn's direction . "I'm goin' to get the stuffI I left in 'a woods. Don't need no comp'ny."

Glenn swallowed and dared to speak again to the hunter's departing back. '"I'd like to go with you, if I could."

Daryl stopped in his tracks but did not turn around. "You make too much noise an' I wanna be alone, " he said gruffly.

"Oh…okay…Daryl…..and hey, I'm glad you're okay."

Daryl's shoulders tightened and he wheeled around to face Glenn. "Okay?" he said bitterly, "You're glad I'm okay? " He pointed at his face then lifted his sleeveless left arm and motioned to the stitched wound there."Does this look "okay" to you?" He didn't wait for an answer but turned on his heels and started walking again. "You people are gonna be the death a' me," Glenn heard him mutter as he walked away.

* * *

Glenn walked dejectedly back to where Dale and Rick had been watching his verbal exchange with Daryl. "Wow," Glenn said as she adjusted his hat and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Daryl's in a crappier mood than usual."

Dale raised his eyebrows. "Can you blame him? He's had a 'crappier than usual' day."

Rick nodded in agreement. "I need to sit down with him and talk to him and at least properly thank him for having my back again."

"Good luck with that," said Glenn.

Rick continued, " I still can't believe Daryl did what he did. I almost fell over when I realized that he had infiltrated the group of soldiers and they hadn't noticed he wasn't one of them."

Dale was looking at the ground and grinding the toe of his left foot into the dirt pushing up the grass and making a little divot. He didn't raise his eyes when he asked, "When did you know it was him and not just one of the invaders? I mean, they were all wearing camouflage and masks."

Rick smiled. "After I was caught, the guy in charge, Pearson, I think it was, hit me in the face a couple of times. I wasn't seeing straight and my head was foggy. As we were about to head up to the second floor, Pearson ordered one of his men to go retrieve my firearm. I looked over at the soldier he'd been talking to and the guy looked back at me, but just for a few seconds. You ever notice that Daryl's eyes are an uncommon shade of blue? I saw those blue eyes and I thought I was seeing things."

Dale pushed the toe of his shoe into the growing hole he had scuffed into the ground. "Is that when you figured out it was really Daryl?" he asked.

"I suspected but I wasn't sure then. He turned to walk away and there was a red rag sticking out of one of his rear pockets. That's when I knew it was Daryl."

Glenn's eyes lit up at this revelation. "Wow," he laughed, "that was brilliant on Daryl's part. I'd love to know how he was able to slide right in with the other soldiers and how the hell did he get one to switch clothes with him? I mean, the dead guy we saw on the monitor, the one we thought was Daryl; he was wearing Daryl's clothes! And the soldier we heard on the walkie talkie had said he'd just shot a guy from the house. It had to be that guy in Daryl's clothes."

Dale sighed and looked up at Glenn and then at Rick. "I wish I'd been able to recognize him sooner than I did." He took a deep breath. "Have you two taken a good look at Daryl's injuries and thought about them at all?"

"Sure, " Glenn said. "I feel awful that I caused that black eye he still has."

Rick poked Glenn. "You've still got yours, too." he said in an effort to make Glenn feel a bit better about his altercation with Daryl.

"Yeah, but I hit him first," Glenn said guiltily.

"And that's just my point." Dale said quietly. "All of the injuries Daryl suffered today were inflicted by us! Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think the invaders laid a hand on him."

Rick's eyes widened. He'd never even thought of that.

"Andrea hit him in the head with the butt of her rifle, Maggie cut him with the knife he gave her and I….well…I kicked him in the head."

Rick put his hand on Dale's shoulder. "How did that happen? When you and Glenn came out of the war room I pointed at Daryl and yelled his name at least a couple times so you'd know it was him. You didn't know?"

"Is that what you were yelling?" Glenn asked as he watched Dales foot continue to scuff at the divot he'd dug. "There was so much noise, guns firing, yelling. I didn't know what you'd said."

"I didn't either. I kicked him twice. Twice!" Dale continued. "I'm sure I knocked him out and if I hadn't done that, Maggie wouldn't have thought he was an enemy and she wouldn't have cut him."

Rick had wondered what had happened to Daryl when he saw Maggie sitting on his chest with the knife poised over her head.

"Don't beat yourself up over it, Dale." Glenn said, "The cut on his arm will heal, I don't think there was any permanent damage and outside of a headache and some bruising and swelling, his head injuries should heal. Knowing Daryl he would understand that these were accidents and we're really sorry."

Would he though? Glenn didn't know if he even believed his own words. Daryl's black eye certainly hadn't been an accident. It had very much been an "on purpose". Daryl's words came back to Glenn and he winced. ""You people are gonna be the death a' me."

Dale sighed. "I'm afraid he's going to figure out that he's suffered more injuries at the hands of this group than at the hands of anyone outside of it. Shane hurt him first back at the farm and he left right afterward."

"Shane's gone now, " Rick retorted.

"Maybe so," Dale conceded, "but look at it from Daryl's perspective. Shane was a part of the group, he was an important part of the group; sort of your 'go-to' guy, the second in command. When Shane went up to confront Daryl that night and they had their fight, we all heard it. Did we go to see what was going on or to break up the fight? No. Did anyone, anyone at all go to see if Daryl was okay when Shane returned to the camp after things quieted down? No. Shane could have killed him and we wouldn't have known until the next morning. I'm sorry, Rick, but I think we have a real problem here. When Daryl figures out that we're to blame for hurting him, I'm betting he'll up and leave as soon as he feels well enough to."

"He knows," Glenn said sadly. "He's realized that we're the ones that hurt him. "

Rick looked at Glenn and then back at Dale. "No. Daryl wouldn't leave and he knows we're sorry. Why would he invite us to come here if he didn't feel that..." Rick stopped speaking as he remembered the words he'd spoken to T-Dog when T had asked him the same question he was now posing to Glenn and Dale. And what had he said to T-Dog? Obligation. Daryl felt a sense of obligation to the group and that was why he had asked them to come to the house. Rick ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "Wow," he said. "You're right. I need to talk to him and get this straightened out." He looked at Glenn. "You said Daryl realizes we're the ones that hurt him. How can you be so sure?"

Glenn looked at his feet. "The last thing he said to me when we were just talking was 'you people are going to be the death of me.'"

Dale looked over at Glenn and Rick sighed. Yes, Rick thought, I really need to speak to Daryl.

* * *

Andrea held on to the seat of the chair she was sitting in. Maggie had gotten her from the living quarters room when she was done patching up Daryl and led her into the med room. Andrea had crinkled her nose when she entered the room. It smelled like antiseptic and rubbing alcohol. Her shoulder wound was extremely painful and Maggie was examining it. Carol had gotten the bleeding stopped with the temporary dressing she had applied in the office before Andrea had been helped down to the war room.

Maggie finished looking the bullet wound over and sat down in a chair facing Andrea.

"This must have been a ricochet," Maggie said. "and you got really lucky."

Andrea made a face, "Lucky?"

"Yes, really lucky," Maggie said. "The bullet is still in there, there was no through and through and no bones were struck. It looks like its just lodged in your deltoid muscle. No bones or major blood vessels hit and the bleeding is under control. If it had been a direct hit and not a ricochet, it would have gone straight through."

Andrea gave Maggie a small smile. "I guess that probably is good news. So what do we do now? Are you going to take the bullet out?" She winced and added, "Is there anything I could have to take the edge off of this damned pain?"

Maggie smiled at Andrea. "Of course. I should have asked you about that first. I guess I figured that someone else had already taken care of it. On a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst, how would you rate your pain?"

"A seven, probably."

"Okay, I'll give you a couple percocet tabs. That should take care of it. I also want to go and get my father. I don't trust myself to take the bullet out and I'm not sure what kind of damage there might be around and behind it. I think I'd feel better if he looks it over and decides what to do."

Andrea nodded. "That sounds like a good idea. "

Maggie stood up and walked to the sink. She rummaged around in a cupboard and found a bottle of percocet. Her father had been concerned with the narcotics being so easily accessible and had pulled them from the shelves. Maggie had put them in a canvas book bag behind a stack of medical journals under the cupboard by the sink. She frowned as she pulled the bottle out of the book bag. Her father had done that initiallt because he was afraid Daryl would dip into the pain meds.

Maggie pulled a paper cup out of the dispenser by the sink and filled it with water. She made her way back across the room to where Andrea sat and handed her the cup of water and then fished a tablet out of the bottle and handed it to her as well.

Andrea popped the tablet in her mouth and chased it down with the water. "Thank you," she said and she really did sound grateful.

"You should go rest now a bit. I'll talk to Rick and see if Glenn and I can go now and get my father."

Andrea nodded, "Thanks, but first I want to ask you about Daryl. Is he okay? I feel terrible about hitting him so hard. I'll bet he hates me now."

Maggie sat down again in front of Andrea. "He doesn't hate you. It was an accident, Andrea, and I'm sure he knows that."

"Did he say anything about it? Did he need stitches? Is he okay?"

"I put a few stitches in and Carol gave him an ice pack to take the swelling down." Maggie took Andrea's hand and gave it a squeeze, "Andrea, don't be too hard on yourself. I hurt him, too. I almost killed him."

Andrea nodded. "So I heard. Its different though for you. Daryl likes you; you two are close. He'll forgive you."

Maggie sighed. "No, I don't think he will. He's mad at me and he wants to end our friendship. I guess I can't really blame him."

Andrea sighed. "Daryl cares about you. He'll come around. When he's feeling better we should make him a pie or something."

Maggie laughed. "A pie? I don't know...hmmmm..he did tell me a short time ago that he'd like some cookies."

Andrea laughed, too. "So lets make the man some cookies! Here we all almost got our asses blown off a short time ago and now we're talking about baking! You know, I used to hate to bake, but now it sounds like it would be heavenly. Just a normal, mundane, uncomplicated thing to do. I bet it would be fun, too!"

"It would be! We can kill two birds with one stone and discuss plans to make this place safer at the same time we mix up cookie dough, " Maggie suggested as she got to her feet.

Andrea stood up, too. "I'm going to go to my room and rest," she said. "It's been one crazy day."

Maggie agreed, "It sure has."

* * *

As the women walked into the hallway, they came upon Lori, Carol and Carl who were trying to clean up the mess created by the gunfight. Carl had been collecting bullet casings and Lori swept up wood splinters and debris as Carol mopped up blood. Maggie told them she was going to ask Rick if she and Glenn could go get her Dad and volunteered to help them later.

Lori and Carol shooed her and Andrea away. "I'm doing this for me." Lori said. "The sooner this place looks like it did before those jerks came to try to take it from us, the better."

Carol agreed. "I guess it's my way of thumbing my nose at their attempt to take out house from us as well." she said.

Maggie smiled. They all had different ways of dealing with the shock of being attacked by other humans. They had gotten used to being attacked by walkers. That was a common occurrence now, but other people? Maggie had held out hope that any other people they encountered would be happy to join them and help out and that they'd all just be one big happy community. This attempted invasion had been a sad wake up call. Maggie knew that one way to get over a traumatic even was to keep yourself busy. It looked like Lori, Carol and Carl had gotten a jump on that. Andrea's desire to bake had almost floored Maggie. She didn't think Andrea had ever baked anything in her life. At the farm, Andrea had made it perfectly clear that she was no 'domestic goddess' and had no desire to be one. She hated any form of housework and she absolutely despised cooking and doing laundry. Maggie smiled as she made her way downstairs.

* * *

Maggie found Rick and Glenn outside tending the fires. She made a face as she approached them. She would never get used to the foul odor of rotten, burning flesh. "Rick?" she asked as she approached.

Rick turned toward her and walked to meet her. "How is Andrea?" he asked.

"I was just coming to discuss that with you. I'd really like to go get my Dad."

Rick's eyes widened and he suddenly looked very worried.

"Andrea is going to be okay!" Maggie added quickly and Rick relaxed. "But the bullet is imbedded in muscle and I don't know if there is more damage behind it and I'm not qualified to remove a bullet. I'd like to go get my father."

Rick nodded. "I think that's a fine idea. You and Glenn can go, but be careful and take a few of the semiautomatics. I don't think there are any more soldier's nearby but its still best to be prepared. You might want to see if Patricia and Beth want to come here, too. They can all stay the night. We're going to set up watches and make some security improvements around here. "

Maggie nodded. "I still think we're safer here than anywhere else." she said.

Rick nodded. "So do I." He turned to where Glenn was talking with Dale by the fire. "Glenn! Come on over here. You and Maggie are going to take a ride."

* * *

A little more than two hours later, Maggie and Glenn drove down the driveway to the lake house with the members of the Greene household. Maggie had relayed what had happened to her family as they made the return trip to the house. Hershel was concerned but ended up agreeing that the house was still the safest place the group could be and the fact that they'd been able to defend it against a military group without one casualty on their side was proof of that.

Maggie asked her father if he'd mind taking a look at Daryl, too. Hershel had already decided he was going to do that when Maggie was telling him what Daryl had done and what had happened.

Hershel had been quiet for a few minutes and then asked Maggie how Daryl's emotional state seemed to be.

"He's cranky and I don't think he wants to be friends with me anymore. He wanted me to teach him how to change his dressing so he could do it himself. I think he's really, really mad at me."

"Did he say anything about anyone else?"

"Not that I can remember."

Hershel rubbed his chin. Daryl was already distrustful and uncomfortable around most people. It appeared to Hershel that Daryl's new injuries had been accidentally inflicted by Maggie and Andrea; two people who were supposed to be friends. Two women. Hershel was afraid that Daryl's trust and confidence issues would be reinforced by his new injuries and that he would totally withdraw into himself and try to distance himself further from the group. He knew Daryl was a stubborn ass, but Hershel liked him. He was honest and straight-forward and much smarter than Hershel had originally thought. Hershel felt that Daryl was honorable and would do anything in his power to protect those he cared about. What would happen if Daryl realized that the people he cared about were the ones hurting him? Would he have a breakdown? Would he leave? Would he snap and go on a bloody rampage? Hershel was concerned. Very concerned.


	60. Chapter 60

Rick sat in the great room and stared at the walkie talkies scattered across the coffee table in front of him. They'd been taken off the soldiers before their bodies were disposed of and most of them seemed to be in good working order. A few of them had been damaged during the fighting and Glenn had suggested keeping them for parts. Rick leaned back on the leather sofa, the leather squeaking as he sank into the cushioned back. He turned his head and looked out the window. The sun had set half an hour ago and twilight had now turned into night. He decided he would be implementing a new rule starting immediately. For now on, anyone leaving the house on foot would be required to take a walkie talkie with them and to stay in contact, checking in at least once an hour . That didn't seem too harsh, did it? He was glad he was alone in the room. He pounded his fist on the armrest of the couch and growled,"Where the hell are you Daryl?"

* * *

Hershel had sedated Andrea in order to remove the bullet from her shoulder in case there were broken blood vessels or nerves that might sustain damage in the process of removing the bullet and need to be repaired. Hershel had seen some cases where a bullet had to be left in the patient because removing it would have cause permanent nerve damage and paralysis. Of course, those bullets had always been imbedded in or near the spine. Maggie was helping him and he mentioned that he thought the bullet must have been a ricochet in order to have not had enough velocity to cause a through and through wound.

"I said the same thing," Maggie told her father as he held up a pair of bloody tweezers clutching the bullet he'd just extracted from Andrea's deltoid muscle.

"Look at this," Hershel said and Maggie thought he sounded very pleased. "It didn't break apart or travel, it didn't hit any bones, nerves or major blood vessels and it didn't go very deep into the muscle. I think Andrea is one of the luckiest gunshot wound victims I've ever seen."

Maggie held out a small metal basin and her father dropped the bullet into it.

Hershel examined the incision and dabbed at the bleeding wound with a gauze pad. "This is small enough and shallow enough to be stitched up. We'll just have to keep an eye on it and start Andrea on some antibiotics." He sutured the small incision and placed a bandage over it. "Could you sit with her?" he asked his daughter. "I'm anxious to see Daryl."

Maggie nodded. "I'll sit with her. I took some supplies down to Daryl's room for dressing changes. They're in the linen closet in his bathroom." She paused for a moment. "I really wish you'd wait, though, Dad. I'd like to be there when you see him."

Hershel sighed. "Maggie, no. No, no, no. I want to speak with Daryl one on one. I'm more worried at this point about his mental state than his physical injuries."

Maggie nodded. "Okay. I just need to talk to him and tell him I'm sorry I was such a jerk to him earlier today."

"Maggie, this isn't some grade school playground thing we're dealing with here. I really think Daryl is going to want his space for a while after this and you should let him have it. If any of you push yourselves on him, it will just make him anxious and more uncomfortable and I'm afraid he'll bolt. I wouldn't be the least bit surprised if hes planning on leaving, but I would hope he'd wait until he's healed before he tries to leave."

"No, he can't leave! Tell him not to leave, Dad, tell him he can't. We really need him here."

Hershel was surprised at his daughter's outburst and he looked at her with concern. "I can't make Daryl stay if he doesn't want to anymore than I can stop the sun from rising. You know that."

Maggie nodded. "You could at least try. You know he's got a head injury and that he probably isn't thinking straight, plus he's mad and he gets all stubborn and ridiculous when he's mad and does stupid things. He loves this place and he wouldn't really want to leave. Plus it wouldn't be safe out there on his own and I'd worry about him all the time and.."

"Margaret! That is enough! I am not going to tell Daryl that he can't leave. I haven't even spoken to the man yet, so lets not get ahead of ourselves and you need to stop trying to run his life. Now just relax and sit with Andrea. Okay?"

Maggie's eyes widened. She wasn't trying to run Daryl's life, she just didn't want him to leave the group. That wasn't really trying to run his life, was it?

Hershel took off his gloves and threw them away and washed his hands. He turned to Maggie and smiled. "I'm sorry, Maggie, if I seem harsh, I just think you get too wrapped up in things that are not your concern. When Andrea wakes up, give her another percocet and take her down to her room. Okay, dear?"

Maggie nodded. "Okay." She watched as her father turned away from her and left the room. She was so torn. She hadn't been very nice to Daryl earlier and she wanted, no she needed to apologize. She needed to tell him she was ashamed of hurting him and that he was right, she had to make sure of her target and she hadn't done that. She needed to apologize for being careless and to tell him that it just about killed her to know she'd hurt him. After all, she had made it one of her missions to keep him and protect him from experiencing pain to the best of her ability, not to cause it. She hated the feeling that their friendship was falling apart. Daryl Dixon was a hard person to get to know and she was honored and felt privileged that he had actually let her in and shared things with her that he hadn't shared with the rest of the group. And his knife; he had given her his knife. She needed to fix things with him and fast, before the rift between them was too large to bridge.

* * *

Hershel was surprised to learn that Daryl wasn't in his room. He was even more surprise to learn that he'd gone off into the woods by himself. Glenn assured him that Daryl should be back at any minute. After hearing Maggie's and Glenn's descriptions of Daryl's injuries, Hershel was anxious to get a look at them himself.

* * *

Carol, Lori and Beth were in the kitchen fixing dinner. Comfort food was in order after the day they'd had so chicken pie, mashed potatoes and chocolate pudding would be served as the evening's fare. Carol brought out a bottle of white wine, too, figuring a half a glass for the adults wouldn't hurt and might stave off some nightmares later that night or in the early morning hours. She also brewed a pot of chamomile tea. She knew Hershel was partial to it and Lori had expressed a liking for it as well.

* * *

Glenn was out on the back porch, watching the woods and keeping an eye out for Daryl. Daryl had stomped of into the woods hours earlier on his quest to recover his Blackhawks and hopefully, his boots. It was dark now and Daryl hadn't returned. Glenn was getting worried and he knew that Rick was, too. Glenn had checked the monitors in the war room an hour earlier to see if he could catch sight of Daryl on any of the cameras, but he was nowhere to be seen. He did notice that the little that was left of the man that they had mistaken for Daryl was no longer wearing Daryl's boots. Glenn took that to be a good sign. He rocked back and forth in the rocking chair as he sat and watched the woods. The night was moonless and the stars had come out and spread themselves across the sky like diamonds on black velvet. The cicadas still hummed and thrummed in the trees and an occasional night bird would call to another of it's kind. A soft breeze blew through the trees causing the pines to whisper and sigh to one another. Glenn wondered if Daryl had decided to spend the night in the woods. No, he couldn't have. He hadn't taken anything with him. He hadn't even taken his crossbow. Glenn wondered if Daryl would even be able to use his crossbow with the stitched cut on his forearm. It took a lot of muscle to pull back the bowstring and that action had sculpted and increased the mass of the muscles in Daryl's arms, shoulders and back. Would the action of pulling the string potentially pop the stitches in his forearm? Glenn wasn't sure but thought it might be a possibility.

Glenn had spoken to Maggie on their way to the farm to get Hershel and she had told him that she thought Daryl was hell bent on ending his friendship with her and that he had been snippy with her. Glenn asked her if she had been snippy with Daryl as well and she admitted that she probably had. Glenn hoped that Maggie and Daryl could repair their rift as he thought that Daryl really needed a friend and he and Maggie were a lot a like in that they were both stubborn, hotheaded at times and could both speak fluent sarcasm. Glenn knew that Andrea had developed a crush on Daryl and he was pretty sure Carol liked him, too. Maybe Daryl needed a girlfriend. He smiled at that thought. He knew he was happier and more relaxed since he had gotten together with Maggie, and he had found more of a purpose for living.

Glenn remembered what Maggie had said about Daryl being incapable of loving anyone. He didn't buy that. He was an optimist and felt that everyone was capable of loving. Daryl was what Glenn liked to call 'socially retarded'. He didn't like to hang around with anyone for more than a very short period of time and he never gave anyone a chance to get to know him. Of course the man couldn't be expected to fall in love if he wouldn't even allow himself to become friends with a lady first.

That was something Glenn couldn't see happening, so he resigned himself to the fact that Maggie was partially right and Daryl was not incapable of loving anyone but unwilling to try to due to his own stubbornness. Glenn resolved to try to be a friend to Daryl and to try to let him know that he was there if Daryl wanted to talk or hang out. He just had to figure out a way to let Daryl know this without getting on Daryl's nerves or bothering him. Glenn knew that that was going to be a fine line to try to walk.

* * *

Maggie came out onto the porch forty five minutes later to bring Glenn in for supper.

Andrea had made her way down the stairs to join everyone for supper and was greeted enthusiastically with hugs and smiles. The percocet had helped to relieve her shoulder's pain and she was happy to be with everyone around the dinner table.

The group had survived an attack and had not suffered any casualties and the ordeal had brought them closer together. It made them appreciate their lives and each other on a new and deeper level. The wine bottle was emptied and another one was opened. Hershel sipped on his chamomile tea and watched the others interact with each other. Beth and Carl were whispering amongst themselves and giggling and Lori, Carol and Andrea were engaged in an animated conversation.

Rick ate in silence and then excused himself and walked to the kitchen. He slipped out the kitchen door and onto the back porch and seated himself in the rocking chair and scanned what he could see of the treeline in the dark. Where the hell was Daryl? Had he just up and left? No, he hadn't taken anything with him and he'd said he was going into the woods to retrieve his guns. Had he gotten lost? Rick smirked. Daryl was incapable of getting lost. A new thought came to Rick. Daryl had suffered head injuries. Couldn't a head injury mess up his memory and his sense of direction? What if he was wandering around in the woods lost? Rick sighed. He wished he'd thought of that a few of hours ago before the sun had set. He jumped to his feet and walked back into the house.

* * *

The dishes were being cleared off the table and Rick heard Carol tell Lori that she'd like to make up a plate for Daryl and take it into his room since he hadn't joined them for dinner.

Glenn overheard Carol and cleared his throat. "Um, Daryl isn't in his room." he said and he put his hands in his pockets and fidgeted a bit.

Carol looked confused. "Where is he then?" she asked, looking first at Glenn and then at Rick.

Dale answered her. "He went into the woods to collect his revolvers. He'd hidden them away somewhere out there so none of the hostiles would see him wearing them and get curious."

"How long has he been gone?" Carol asked with alarm.

"A few hours." Rick replied.

"A few hours? _A few hours_? Its dark out there! Why didn't you go find him? What are you doing still standing here?" Carol headed for the back door. "If you're not going to bother to go look for him, then I will!"

Rick sighed. "Carol, get back here. I was just going to suggest that Dale and Glenn and I go look for him. We need flashlights and to coordinate our search areas. There are walkie talkies in the great room. I suggest we get in there and synch up three of them with one here at the house so we can all keep in touch with each other."

Everyone followed Rick into the great room. Glenn sat down in front of the couch and started turning on and synching channels on the walkie talkies as Rick paced back and forth and gave orders. "Daryl headed out from the driveway side of the house and straight back into the woods. Glenn, Dale and I will fan out about fifty feet from one another."

"I want to go, too," interrupted Carl.

"Carl, I need you to stay here and keep an eye on things. You can man the base walkie talkie. We'll check in with you every ten minutes. Daryl might come back while we're gone and you'll need to radio us and let us know. If he.."

The bang of a door slamming behind them made everyone jump.

They all turned around. In a few seconds, Daryl walked into the room and looked around at everyone. "What's goin' on?"

Everyone started talking at once and Carol and Andrea stood up.

Rick glared at Daryl and pointed an accusing finger at him. "Where the _hell _have you been? We've been worried sick about you!"

Daryl glared back at Rick, "I tol' China I was goin' to get my guns and the stuff I left in a woods. Din't he tell you?" Daryl turned his glare towards Glenn.

"Yes he told us," Rick growled, "but that was hours ago! We were just going to come looking for you!"

Daryl looked disgusted. "What the hell for? I'm not some lost lil' kid. I know how to get aroun' 'n the woods! I don't need no fuckin' babysitter!"

Rick walked a few steps towards Daryl and Daryl straightened up to his full height and stuck out his chest and crossed his arms.

Maggie smiled to herself. Daryl was living up to her nickname for him and she'd never seen him look more defiant.

"No more of this shit! For now on, when you go out traipsing though the woods you take one of these with you." Rick shook a walkie talkie at Daryl. "You check in at least once every half hour and again when you get back here! Is that understood!?"

Maggie cringed. This was not going to end well.

Daryl could feel the anger welling up in side of him. "Just who the _hell_ do you think you are, _Grimes_, my momma?"

"No, Daryl, I'm not your momma. I'm the leader of this group and for your safety and for the safety of everyone else here, you will _listen to_ and _do_ what I tell you to do, _do you understand_?!"

Daryl's temper gauge had rarely flown into the red zone so fast. He could feel himself getting hot as he took a couple steps towards Rick and pointed his own finger back at him and started to yell. "Now _you_ listen to _me, Rick Grimes_, and you listen _good_!" Daryl could feel his heart race and start to pound in his chest harder. "You might well be the leader of the group an' that's all fuckin' well an' good, but you see, _I don't belong to your fuckin' group_!" Daryl could feel his blood pressure rising as he yelled all the louder. "I never did an I _never will_! You ain't gonna tell me what I _can_ an' _can't_ do! I will come an' go as I please an' there ain't a _fuckin' thing_ y'all can do 'bout it! _You ain't the boss a me_! Get that through that fuckin' thick head a yours, _Grimes_! _I ain't nobody's bitch!"_

Rick was furious. He took another step towards Daryl, meeting the man's intense glare with his own. "_I'm just trying to protect_.." he started to holler. He saw the fire suddenly leave Daryl's eyes and they rolled skyward. Rick lunged forward as Daryl collapsed on to the floor.

Carol and Lori shrieked and everyone scrambled to get to Daryl.

Hershel made his way over to Daryl and took control of the situation. "Get back, and don't touch him. Let the man have some air." he ordered. He pulled a penlight out of his shirt pocket. "Rick," he said as he looked up at a guilty looking Rick. "would you please help me get him on his back?"

Rick slid his hands under Daryl's right shoulder and hip and pulled them out and upward, rolling Daryl from his side onto his back.

Hershel opened Daryl's eyes and checked each one with his penlight. "Dilation and constriction are normal. He put his head to Daryl's chest and listened to his heart as he had no stethoscope with him at the moment. "His heart sounds fine. I'm betting his blood pressure suddenly plummeted after rising so fast. Can we get him into his room?"

"I'll help," Glenn offered.

"I got it." Rick replied. He was still crouched next to Daryl and it was easy for him to position his arms beneath Daryl and get a good grip on him. Rick stood with Daryl in his arms and followed Hershel into the hall and to Daryl's door. Hershel opened the door for Rick and Rick slid sideways through the door, being careful not to knock Daryl's head on the door casing.

The other members of the group started to flow into the room and Hershel had to ask them to please leave, at least for now.

* * *

Rick had just placed Daryl on the bed when Daryl's eyelids fluttered and he groaned.

Hershel clasped Rick's arm and motioned towards the door.

Rick nodded and left the room.

"Daryl?" Hershel asked as he bent closer to examine the man's face.

"Hmm?" Daryl responded.

"That was quite a speech you just gave, son."

Daryl kept his eyes closed and groaned again. He slowly licked his lips. "Hershel?" he asked quietly.

"I'm here."

"You think you could...could you jes..."

Hershel waited for Daryl to finish. When he didn't he gently prompted him.

"Could I just do what?"

Daryl's breath hitched and he was quiet for a few seconds before he whispered,. "Could you please jes' take that...that..big ass.. icepick... or whatever the hell it is..outta the middle of my head?"

Hershel took Daryl's hand and gave it a squeeze. Daryl squeezed it back. "I can do that for you."

Hershel saw a small smile turn up the corners of Daryl's mouth and he whispered. "Thanks."

Hershel examined Daryl's facial and head wounds and checked Daryl's pupils again. He was disgusted. Was it really possible that these awful injuries were all inflicted by the people Daryl lived with and that they were all mistakes? Hershel was amazed that Daryl wasn't suffering from brain damage or hemorrhaging in the brain. Hell, maybe he was and they just couldn't tell yet.

"Are you awake, Daryl?" Hershel asked.

"Yeh."

"I'm going to ask you a few questions to assess your head injuries. Is that okay? Daryl swallowed. "Do I have to open my eyes? Theys awful tired."

"No, you don't have to open your eyes if you don't want to. What is your name."

Daryl raised his eyebrows. "Daryl Lee Dixon. Did I get that one right?"

Hershel smiled. "Yes, I believe so. Who am I?"

"You're Hershel, horse doc. Maggie's daddy."

"Where are you?"

Daryl opened his eyes and looked around for a few seconds and then closed them again.

"Don't look like heaven. Don't look like hell. Looks like my room."

"How did the injury on the right side of your face happen?"

Daryl was quiet for a second. "Got kicked in the head."

"Do you know who kicked you?"

"I got a good idear."

"And the cut on your forehead?"

"Andrea hit me with a gun butt. Was an accident."

"And the cut on your arm?"

"Funniest one a' all. My own knife. I gave it to her 'cause it spilt her blood, an' she used it to spill mine. Ain't that sort a what they call irony? Don't think she meant it but who knows? She don't like me no more."

"Who?"

"Maggie, a course."

Hershel took a deep breath. "Daryl. I like you and I think you're a good man. I'm sorry I'm asking all these questions, but I really want to help you."

Daryl opened his eyes and looked up at Hershel. "Comin' from you it means a lot. I know you won't hurt me. You're probably the only one won't. The others, they don' mean to, but they do it anyway. I can't stay here. I can't. They won't mean to, but one day they're gonna kill me."

Hershel didn't know what to say. Daryl didn't sound like he was off his rocker or anything. He wasn't mad at the group for hurting him. He was _afraid_ of them.

"I'll do my best to make sure that doesn't happen." he told Daryl.

Daryl closed his eyes and smiled again. "Whatcha gonna do? Wrap me in bubble wrap with duct tape?

Hershel smiled. "If that's what it takes."

Hershel left the room after explaining to Daryl that he would be in every half hour to check on him.

Daryl didn't argue.


	61. Chapter 61

Hershel sat down in one of the leather chairs in the great room as the group members milled about, some sitting, some standing, anxious to hear what he had to say about Daryl. Hershel looked around at all the concerned faces and licked his dry lips. "Daryl appears to be okay." he said. "He passed out because of a sudden drop in blood pressure. This is a relatively common occurrence in head injury victims. The brain can have trouble correctly processing signals and will sometimes overcompensate. Daryl got angry and his blood pressure rose. His brain would usually signal his body to slightly relax the constriction of the blood vessels to lessen some of the pressure, but in this case, they were signaled to relax too much and his blood pressure plummeted. We all saw the results. I've asked him to stay close and to refrain from going off by himself for the next few days."

There was a murmur of approval and agreement from the members of the group.

"Can we go in and see him?" Carol asked.

Hershel tried to be as delicate as he could on the subject. "I would prefer it if everyone would just hold off on visiting him for a while."

"Why?" Andrea asked.

Hershel sighed. "You all know how Daryl is. He prefers his solitude and his interactions with other people on his terms. If everyone goes barging in to see him, uninvited and unexpected, it will just increase the stress Daryl is feeling."

Carol disagreed. "Not if we tell him how much we care about him and that we want him to get better and we miss his company. I would think he'd be more stressed out if no one went to see him at all. He would think that we don't care about him." There were a few murmurs of agreement.

Hershel gave Carol a surprised look and then shared it with the rest of the group. "Do any of you even know this man? He wants to be alone and I'm going to make sure his wishes are respected! It isn't up to you to determine whether it is in his best interest. He's injured, he's nervous, he's feeling vulnerable, and he doesn't trust any of you."

Several pairs of eyes widened at the last comment, including Carol's, Rick's and Maggie's.

Hershel continued, "Now I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Leave the man alone. If he asks to see any of you, you're welcome to visit, but don't hold your breath waiting for him to issue an invitation. Maggie will continue to change his dressings, but Maggie, you are to go in, change the dressing and get out. Daryl isn't up for conversation with anyone. Now are there any more questions?"

There weren't.

* * *

Rick approached Hershel after the group had dispersed. "He's really mad at us, isn't he."

Hershel looked at Rick. The man's face expressed his worry and he looked at the floor as if he was ashamed of himself. "No, Rick, he's not mad at the group. He's afraid of it."

Rick looked up in alarm. "Afraid? Of us?" That couldn't be possible. Daryl Dixon wasn't afraid of anything or anybody...except for maybe his older brother and that was understandable. Everyone was afraid of Merle.

"Yes and I can't blame him. Did you get a good look at him? Do you know where those injuries came from?"

Rick put his hands on his hips and nodded at the floor. He knew. "We're all really sorry."

"I'm sure he knows that, too, but it doesn't make his injuries feel any better or go away." Hershel patted Rick on the shoulder. "I told Daryl I'd check in on him every half hour. Is there an extra blanket and pillow around? I figured I'd just sack out here on this couch. Its very comfortable."

Rick smiled at the older man. "Sure. I'll get them for you and thank you, Hershel. I know I really blew it tonight."

Hershel smiled back at Rick, nodded and said, "No one is perfect."

* * *

Daryl slowly made his way into the bathroom. He turned the cold water on in the sink and soaked a washcloth in it, then held it up against his swollen face. He noticed that the bump on his forehead had gone down and he ran a finger across it, gliding it over the stitches. "Least I don' look like Beldar no more." he mumbled.

Imaginary Merle snorted. "Yer right! Now ya look like Jabba the Hut, all swelled up in a face an' such."

"Shudup." Daryl grumbled.

"'Er that balloon head fella on South Park, you know, the one goes 'Mmmkay?' all a time?"

"Mr. Mackey."

"Yeah, Darleena, tha's the guy!"

Daryl sighed. "I'm gonna find you, Merle. I'm gonna look for you an' I'm gonna find you. An' when I find you, I'm gonna give you a good ol' fashioned kick in the ass."

"Bring it on baby brother, bring it on."

Daryl plugged the sink drain and let the sink fill up with cold water. He turned the faucet off when it was full, took a breath and submerged his face in the water. He pulled it out, took another breath and then plunged it back under the water's surface. He blew bubbles in the water from his mouth and his nose, then raised his head from the water. He reached for a hand towel and gently patted his face with it until it was relatively dry and he dabbed the corners of his eyes. That was much better. He now felt more clear headed and wide awake than he had most of the day. He walked back into his bedroom and sat in the chair by the closet. He brought his left foot up onto his right knee and untied his boot.

Daryl had found what was left of the soldier he had switched clothing with in his trip into the woods a few hours earlier. He was thrilled to find that his boots had not been damaged or covered with blood or other messy remains, human or walker. One of the soldier's legs had been eaten through and after untying the boot, Daryl had to grasp the broken and sinewy tibia in one hand and pull the boot off the man's foot. The other boot had been much easier to remove. He found the oak tree with the raised roots and retrieved his holster belt and the Blackhawks. He had wrapped them in his t-shirt before shoving them into the small cave made by the tree's roots and they were still clean and dry.

He wasn't in any hurry to head back to the house, so he did a sweep of the area, searching for walkers and trying to straighten out the jumbled thoughts running through his head. He needed to leave, to get away from this group. They didn't like him and he hated the fact that he had started to care for some of them. Caring was a stupid and dangerous thing to do.

Daryl came across two walkers as he made his way through the woods and used his Bowie knife to deliver the necessary damage to the brain to neutralize them. He walked some more until the sun started to set, then he headed back toward the house. He wished he had brought a canteen with him or a bottle of water because his mouth and throat were dry as sand and he had become quite thirsty. He trudged on, it was just another half mile or so to the house.

He started thinking of Merle and wondered if his older brother was still alive. If so, how was he faring with just one hand? Merle was a tough bastard and if anyone could get through life with one hand, it would be Merle.

Daryl decided as soon as he had healed from this latest crop of wounds, he would toss his bike in the back of his truck and go looking for his older brother.

"What about my Bonneville? You ain't jes' leavin' it. I'll kick that narrow lil' ass a yours, Darleena!"

"You can't ride one handed an' you know it."

"Sure as hell can! Got my lef' hand...clutch is on a lef' side. Can jes' use the foot brake, don't need the front brake, so fuck you, I can ride jes' as good as your candy ass can. Couldn't ride if'n I los' my lef' hand, dummy."

"I ain't goin' back for your piece a shit Triumph. I jes' ain't. "

Daryl started to get dizzy and he leaned against a tree. The forest floor started to sway and rock beneath his feet and he felt his legs turn to jelly. He clung to the tree and tried to clear his head and keep himself standing upright. After a few minutes the ground stopped swaying and he released his grip on the tree and sighed. He turned around and leaned back into the tree. An annoying itch in the middle of his upper back caught his attention and he pressed his back hard against the rough bark of the tree and bent his knees. He slid himself up and down against the tree, effectively scratching the itch. Much better. He started to get dizzy again and narrowed his eyes as if to see better amongst the darkening trees. He looked up into the branches of the tree above him. No, the first bough was up to high for him to reach in the condition he was in. He moved cautiously, looking for a tree that would be suitable to climb. The forest floor pitched and swayed and he grabbed onto the trunk of a maple tree and planted his foot into a ridge of bark and pushed himself upward. His fingers found hold in the rough bark tiles and ridges and he pulled himself up further until he reached the first tree bough. It was thick and sturdy and he straddled it and faced the tree. His peripheral vision was gone again and he was afraid he was going to pass out. He reached into his rear pocket and pulled out his cleaning rag and tied one end of it around his right wrist. He fashioned a loop with a sliding knot at the other end of the rag and then pressed his chest against the tree and wrapped his arms around it. With his arms hugging the tree, Daryl fumbled for the end of the rag hanging from his right wrist and found it, sliding his left wrist into the loop and catching the end of the rag with his right hand. He pulled the loop tight.

He was about fifteen feet up and figured that was high enough to keep him from becoming walker food if he ended up passing out and hanging from the tree 'like a big ol' pinata', he thought. Unless, of course, some NBA team had been in the area when people began to rise from the dead and there were seven foot walkers roaming the woods. Then he would be screwed.

* * *

Daryl closed his eyes and his mind drifted. He remembered walking in the woods at night with Andrea, searching for Sophia. They had come upon a walker hanging by a noose from a tree. The walker's legs and feet had been stripped of flesh and he growled and moaned as he reached for them and rustled the tree's leaves. The fool had hung himself and left a brief suicide note in the form of a simple poem. Daryl remembered describing the hanging man as a 'big ol' pinata'. Andrea had talked him into wasting one of his bolts on the fool. Andrea. Man, that woman had a great figure.

Daryl smirked. Here he was, dizzy and sitting fifteen feet up in a tree with his wrists tied together around it, thinking of Andrea's body, of all things. She would probably have a fit if she knew he found her attractive. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the rough bark of the tree.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting on the bough, tethered to the tree, when he next opened his eyes. Had he fallen asleep? The stars peppered the night sky and he looked up at them through the tree's branches. How long had he been there? A few minutes? Hours? His cramped muscles, sore wrists and the positions of the stars suggested that he had been there much longer than a few minutes. He took a deep breath. His head was clear and the breeze blowing through the trees ruffled his hair and rustled the leaves around him.

Daryl grappled with the knots he'd tied in his cleaning rag and released his wrists. He rubbed them and stuffed the rag back in his rear pocket and then shimmied down the tree. It took him another hour to get to the house and he ran into one walker clad in camouflage. He had no problem dispatching the walker but shuddered when he thought of what might have happened if he'd stayed on the ground when he was feeling dizzy and hadn't sought the safety of a high tree branch.

* * *

He remembered Merle's words to him when he had been seven and he and Merle had surprised a mother bear with cubs while they were out looking for wild mushrooms. "Sometimes a tree can be your best friend." Merle had said as the mother bear had sniffed around at the base of the tree. She had given chase when the brothers had surprised her and when Merle had realized that there was no way Daryl could keep up with him, he'd grabbed his little brother and thrown him onto his back, Daryl's small arms wrapping around Merle's thick bull neck and his feet locking together at the front of Merle's waist. Daryl had clung to his brother for dear life as Merle had leaped up for the lowest bough in the tree and then hauled himself up higher and higher. For a second, Daryl had been reminded of the chimpanzee mothers he'd seen on television once, swinging through the jungle with their baby chimps on their backs. He almost laughed at the thought of Merle as a mother chimpanzee but caught and quieted himself before he did. If he'd laughed, Merle would have asked him what was so funny and Daryl would have had to tell him the truth. Little Daryl was quite sure that if that happened, Merle would punt him out of the tree and he'd be left to the mercy of the mother bear. He was quite sure mother bears weren't known for being merciful.

"Won't she come on up after us?" Daryl had asked, doing his damned best not to show his big brother how scared he was.

"Nah, she's too fat n' lazy. She'll go back ta her lil' ones an' ferget all 'bout us."

Merle had been right and Daryl had never forgot what he'd told him about trees being your friends. It had saved his ass on numerous occasions since that day twenty nine years ago.

* * *

Daryl had just taken his boots off and was taking off his socks when there was a knock at the door. He got up and opened it, expecting to see Hershel, but it was Maggie that stood there. His face reddened and he stepped back a step.

Maggie waited for Daryl to either invite her in or tell her to go away. When he did neither, she spoke. "I'm here to change your dressing." She watched him and noticed he wouldn't look at her; his eyes never left the floor. "If you want, I can have my dad do it." she offered.

Daryl looked up at her and she thought she would melt when those blue eyes of his met hers.

"S' okay. C'mon in." He turned his back to her and slowly pulled the t-shirt off from over his head and then walked over to his bed.

Maggie stared at the scars on his back, and for a second she wondered again about their origins. He had explained the largest and widest one on his chest to her and she was quite sure that was the only one she'd ever know the story behind.

Daryl hopped up onto the bed and stretched out on his back. He lifted his head up and looked at her. "I'm ready. Get your shit out and give me the shot."

Maggie raised her eyebrows. "So you don't want to watch this time?"

"Pfft, hell no. Just shoot me up with whateverthehell it is you use now an' do your thing. You'll be done an' gone when I wake up."

Maggie's face fell. Daryl didn't want to talk. He really didn't want to be friends anymore. "Okay." she said. "Have you eaten yet?"

Daryl's stomach growled just then and he looked embarrassed.

Maggie smiled. "Apparently not."

"I ain't hungry." he mumbled and he leaned back and closed his eyes.

Maggie went into the cupboard in the bathroom and returned with the supplies she needed. Daryl looked away from her as she injected him with sodium pentathol and in a moment he was sound asleep.

* * *

Daryl woke up alone in his room about twenty minutes later. He rubbed his eyes and yawned and then sat up. He could smell something cooking and damn, it smelled good. He looked down at the fresh new dressing on his abdomen and sighed. He hadn't engaged Maggie in conversation. It was just easier this way. She didn't like him anymore and he'd be damned if he'd let her see how that affected him. He blinked and frowned as he suddenly caught sight of a tray on the bedside table. It held a plate with a large, steaming helping of chicken pie along with a side of mashed potatoes. A big bowl of chocolate pudding sat next to a large glass of milk and a fork and a spoon wrapped in a napkin rounded out the offering. Daryl bit his bottom lip. Maggie must have brought it in for him. Why would she? Didn't she despise him now?

Something else caught his eye and he felt an unexpected wave of sadness and disappointment wash over him. Sitting there on the table next to the tray was his hunting knife.


	62. Chapter 62

Glenn had stayed up until after midnight talking to Rick and Dale about security improvements they would be making in order to make the house safer. There was a debate about whether or not the razor wire should be put up on top of the chain link fence. In the end, it was decided that the razor wire would be installed as the pros seemed to outweigh the cons. Glenn had suggested electrifying the fence, but Dale had pointed out how hard it would be to ground it and that the constant clicking of the fence energizer would drive everyone nuts.

They had been sitting on the deck discussing their ideas and plans over the rest of the second bottle of wine that Carol had opened at dinnertime and Glenn was feeling a little light headed when he finally said his 'good-nights' and made his way up the stairs to the bedroom he shared with Maggie. He opened the door and slipped inside the room quietly.

* * *

The room was dark and he didn't turn on the light because he didn't want to wake Maggie. He whipped off his ball cap and threw it towards the chair he always hung it on. He heard it bounce off the wall and stifled a giggle. Next he toed his sneakers off. He unbuckled his belt and let his jeans fall to his ankles. Glenn pulled his t shirt off over his head and threw it towards the chair and moved toward the bed. He had forgotten to remove his pants from around his ankles and he reached out to try to grab something, anything, as he tripped. He grabbed at the low mirrored dresser and small bottles of makeup and perfume became airborne as his arm skimmed the top of the dresser searching for something solid to hold on to. There were several small crashes and bangs as the items jettisoned from the dresser collided with the floor and with the foot board of the bed. These mini crashes were followed by one large crash as Glenn finished his ungraceful descent to the floor. A stream of curses that would have made Daryl proud poured out of his mouth.

"Glenn!" hissed Maggie's voice from the bed. "What the heck is going on!"

Glenn rolled over onto his back and moaned, "I fell down. Down here. On the floor."

"Are you okay? Why didn't you turn on the light?"

"I didn't want to wake you up."

There was an urgent knock on the door and Andrea's voice said, "Is everything okay in there? I heard a 'crash'!"

"We're fine, we're fine," Glenn replied loudly and then hiccuped.

Maggie's nose was suddenly assaulted with the pungent odor of white wine. "Glenn's drunk," Maggie called to Andrea. "He's stumbling around running into things."

Glenn hiccuped again.

Maggie heard Andrea giggle from the other side of the door. "Hey, she said, "Can you remember that Simpson's episode where they had the little news blub that said 'and now a man who's been hiccuping non stop for the last eighteen years' and it shows a clip of the man in the studio and he's hiccuping and he says 'hic, hic, kill me, hic!'"

Glenn started laughing between hiccups from where he was still lying on his back on the floor. He spread his arms out to hold himself down as the floor was moving and spinning beneath him.

"I'm glad you guys think it's funny, " Maggie grumbled. "You woke me from a sound sleep, Glenn. I have to be up in another two hours to take watch."

"Goodnight!" Andrea called through the door.

Maggie heard Andrea's footsteps in the hall as she retreated to her room. "You know it took me almost an hour to clean this room up after the mess those assholes made ransacking it," she said to Glenn.

Glenn struggled to get to his feet and moved forward, grasping the end of the bed with both hands. "Awwwww….hic is my Maggie Waggie grumpy wumpy now?" he said and he dissolved in a fit of hiccups and giggles.

"Maggie Waggie is going to kick your assy wassy if you don't shut up and come to bed. You're not as funny as you think you are, you know."

"You want me to hic come to bed, my little sugar hic plum?" Glenn crawled up onto the bed and struggled with the top sheet and blanket, trying to slide beneath them. He leaned against Maggie and and said, "I'm sorry hic I woke you up. Do you forhicgive me?"

Maggie sighed. Glenn didn't drink very often at all and he certainly could not hold his liquor. She had to admit to herself that it was rather amusing. "Yes, I forgive you."

"Good!" Glenn said cheerfully. "Let's have hic makeup sex then!"

Maggie shoved him and rolled over. "Go to sleep, Glenn."

Glenn pouted. "Please? C'mon, please hic please hic please?"

Maggie was tired and wanted to go back to sleep before she relieved Carol from watch duty in another two hours, so she pulled out the big guns. "Glenn, if you don't stop hiccuping and if you don't shut your mouth right now and go to sleep, I'm shutting you off for a week."

"What? A week?"

"Two weeks."

The threat appeared to scare the hiccups right out of Glenn. "Okay, okay!" whispered Glenn frantically. "I'm shutting up! I'm going to sleep!"

Maggie rolled back toward Glenn and gave him a kiss on the cheek. "Thank you," she said, then she rolled back over and pulled the sheet and blanket up around her neck.

* * *

Daryl slipped out of his room and padded barefoot across the great room and past where Hershel was sleeping on one of the large leather couches. He quietly carried the tray that had held his supper and the empty milk glass into the kitchen. He turned on the light on the hood over the oven and washed and dried his dishes and utensils in the dim light and put them away. He notice that there were crumbs and bits of food on the counter and his OCD tendencies got the best of him. He wiped down the kitchen counters before he grabbed an ice pack out of the freezer and made his way back through the dining room and into the great room.

Hershel was just sitting up on the couch. He jumped when he saw Daryl moving in the shadows. "I was just going to check on you." Hershel whispered to Daryl as Daryl stopped in front of him.

"No need to. I'm okay, jes' headin' back to bed." He held up the ice pack and waved it at Hershel. "Grabbed one a these to hold on my face for a bit."

Hershel smiled and nodded. "Does your head still ache?"

"Not so bad 's it was." Daryl answered.

"Take a couple more Tylenol with codeine and remember, no aspirin."

Daryl nodded. "Go back to sleep, Hershel. You don't hafta get up with me again tonight. I'm sure I'll sleep right through."

Hershel smiled. "Alright. Goodnight, son."

Daryl nodded at Hershel. "G'nite."

* * *

Daryl looked at the clock on the wall as he entered his room. It was 2:40 am. He swallowed two of the Tylenol with codeine tablets after double checking them and grabbed a clean hand towel out of the bathroom. He wrapped it around the ice pack, then climbed onto his bed and pressed the ice pack against his right temple and cheek. He moved his jaw from side to side and opened and closed his mouth. There was an audible 'click' and he could feel his mandible catch on the right side when he opened his mouth and again when he closed it. He was surprised and somewhat relieved that the swelling seemed to be going down and that the injury wasn't nearly as painful as it had been just a few hours earlier.

Daryl had eaten his dinner without doing much chewing, mostly just shoving the food in his mouth and swallowing it.

"Ya eat like a hog," Imaginary Merle had observed. "Reminds me a' Bacon. You remember 'im? All you gotta do is snort and oink a bit and the 'semblance 'll be complete. Think 'e had more manners an' you, though."

* * *

Daryl remembered Bacon, the Dixon's black Devon boar. How could he forget? Daryl had been eight years old and he had been delighted when his father had brought home the tiny black piglet he'd won in a poker game. His Pa had told him it was not a pet and not to touch it before depositing it in the old dog kennel in the back yard.

Daryl couldn't help it. The cute little tiny thing would sit in the kennel and oink and squeal and carry on until Daryl would sneak into the enclosure, scoop it up and sneak out of the kennel with it. He'd carry it around and play with it and feed it. Daryl grew very attached to the silly little thing and eventually taught it to sit, shake hands and fetch like a dog. His father beat him every time he caught Daryl playing with the pig, but Daryl just couldn't help himself. The worst pig related beating had come late one night when his Pa had heard snorts and giggles coming from the bedroom Daryl and Merle shared. Pa had burst into the room to find the little black piglet snuggled up on Daryl's pillow and snuffing and grunting happily as Daryl scratched it behind the ears. Daryl didn't think he'd ever heard his Pa yell so loud or seen Pa's face turn so red. Merle was doing a stint in juvie and wasn't there to run interference with Pa and Daryl had been black and blue for two weeks and Pa's belt had made a mess of his back. When Pa noticed a short time later that Daryl's cuts had bled on his bed sheets, Daryl received another beating for that.

Daryl hated the name Pa and Merle had decided on for the pig, and Merle said it was a daily reminder for Daryl not to get attached to the animal. He had always known what Bacon's fate would be once he was full grown and sure enough, two years later Pa approached Daryl with a pig sticker knife and dragged him out to the kennel to slaughter the now huge hog.

"Let this be a lesson to ya not to be playin' with your food." his father said and handed Daryl the knife and pushed him towards the boar.

Bacon snorted a happy snort and sat when he saw Daryl and he raised a cloven hoof to "shake", expecting to be rewarded with a cookie or a treat. Daryl couldn't do it. He dropped the knife and bolted for the woods with his Pa right behind him. He climbed a tree as fast as he could and refused to come down. There was no way that he was going to kill that pig.

His Pa started up the tree after him but he wasn't as spry as he once was and had to retreat back down the trunk after only getting seven feet up. Pa hollered and yelled and cussed him out and then threatened to get the shotgun and blow Daryl right out of the damned tree. That scared Daryl as he could totally see his father doing that. Daryl decided that he'd climb down out of the tree and haul ass once his father headed to the house to get the shotgun.

Just as Pa stomped off toward the house, Daryl heard Merle's Triumph coming down the road and he inwardly sighed with relief. His Pa yelled and carried on to Merle about what a fucking pussy Merle's younger brother was and swore up and down that there was no way in hell that little pussy fag was the product of his loins.

Merle killed Bacon himself and invited a couple of his buddies over to drink beer and help him cut the hog up in exchange for some pork.

"Dressed out at eight hun'red pounds. Best tastin' bacon n' pork I ever had," Imaginary Merle reminded Daryl.

Daryl wouldn't have known. He refused to eat any part of the hog.

* * *

Imaginary Merle was right about him eating like a hog earlier that night, thought Daryl. He had made a real pig of himself, scarfing down the food Maggie had left for him and then surprising himself with a loud and robust belch when he was finished eating. He hadn't realized how hungry he was and he almost dared to venture out and see if there was any more chicken pie left; almost being the operative word. After twenty minutes his stomach had gotten the signal to his brain that there was no vacancy and Daryl had snuggled with his pillow to his chest and the blankets wrapped around him feeling pleasantly full.

Maggie had really given him huge portions of everything. Daryl was surprised at how thoughtful she'd been considering she couldn't stand him now. It was clear that she had listened more to the grumbling of his stomach than to the words he spoke when he told her he wasn't hungry and he was grateful for that. She might not like him, he thought, but her compassion still ruled her.

Part of him wished he could swallow his pride and just ask her, hell, beg her to give their friendship another chance. He knew he'd been a total asshole and he was sorry. Yes, he had promised himself he wouldn't get attached to anyone but dammit, it had happened anyway. "The best laid plans a mice an' men." he mumbled to himself. Maybe if he apologized...no..it didn't really matter anymore; he'd blown it and now Maggie hated him. He fell asleep with the ice pack pressed against his face and after almost an hour he began to dream.

* * *

_He could hear their voices crackle over the walkie talkies they used to communicate with one another as they searched for him. They had split up into three groups to comb the woods and he could hear one group getting closer._

"_Just found a blood trail." he heard Rick say into his radio._

_Was he bleeding? Daryl looked down and he could see blood dripping off the toe of his boot onto the ground below. Was he up high enough? He was weak and had only had the strength to climb to the second bough. Was there enough leaf cover?_

_He heard the walkie talkie crackle and then Andrea's voice came over it. "We're on our way."_

_They were getting closer. Daryl squinted as he looked at the ground below him. There was a blood trail leading directly to the tree and there were bloodstains on the tree bark that lead directly to where he sat twenty feet up on a bough in the oak tree. The voices were getting closer and he closed his eyes and rested his head against the tree. It was just a matter of moments before they found him._

"_I see him! He's up in that tree." It was Glenn's voice._

_Soon the other groups were there and they were all standing beneath the oak tree and looking up at him. He refused to open his eyes. He would not look at them. A shot rang out and he felt an explosion of pain and heat blossom in his left arm. His balance was compromised and then he was falling. He hit the branch below him as he fell and a loud crack resonated through the trees when he landed hard on his back at the group's feet. The pain in his arm was gone. He tried to move, to scramble away from where they stood around him but he found that he couldn't move._

"_Awwww, Tiger." Maggie's face came into view._

_He couldn't turn his head to look away from her and he couldn't speak._

"_I think you broke your neck. I'm so sorry." She looked genuinely sad about his predicament._

_The others in the group all joined in a sympathetic "Awwwwww."_

_Maggie crouched down next to Daryl and leaned over him. He could see tears in her eyes. She reached down and unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it open, then traced one of the smaller scars on his chest with the fingernail of her right index finger. It was the small 'x' Bud had branded him with years earlier. "X marks your heart," she whispered. She pushed the hair out of his face as he watched her. He was paralyzed; he couldn't move his arms or his legs, his hands or his feet or his head and he couldn't speak. Maggie leaned in close to his face and he looked into those haunting gray eyes of hers. "We all love you, Daryl. Don't you know that? We all love you so much. You mean so much to us."_

_The rest of the group murmured and mumbled their agreement as they stood around him._

"_We love you and we'd never hurt you." Maggie sat back and pulled the hunting knife he'd given her from its sheath on her belt grabbing the handle firmly. She leaned closer to his face until they were almost touching noses and whispered. "You know I'd never hurt you, Tiger. You mean so much to me. I really do love you." She gently and slowly kissed his lips. He couldn't move or speak but somehow he found the warmth and softness of her lips to be comforting. She pulled away from the kiss and smiled at him. Then she raised her arm and drove the knife, her knife...his knife, into his heart._

* * *

Hershel was startled awake. He wasn't sure if he'd dreamed the voice that had cried, "Why?" or if he had actually heard it. He sat bolt upright on the couch in the dark and listened carefully. As he became fully awake, he was quite sure that he really had heard something and that the noise had come from Daryl's room. After a few moments of silence, Hershel moved off the couch and walked carefully across the floor towards the hall and Daryl's bedroom . He stopped outside the door and listened. He heard Daryl groan and shift in his bed and a moment later the sounds of relatively quiet snoring came through the door. Hershel suspected that Daryl had probably just bumped one of his wounded areas in his sleep. He wasn't going to barge into Daryl's room to see what was going on when the noises now coming through the door indicated that Daryl had gone back to sleep, if he'd even awakened in the first place.

Hershel plodded back to the couch and sank down into the blankets resting on the leather covered cushions. He pulled a blanket up over himself and checked his watch. It was a little after 4:00am, he was tired and he was thankful that the couch he occupied was more comfortable to sleep on than his own bed at home. The room was quiet and he fell asleep a short time later.


	63. Chapter 63

Daryl slid out of bed at about 5:30 am and trudged into the bathroom. He rubbed his eyes and looked into the mirror over the sink. The swelling on the right side of his face had receded even further and his face almost looked half way normal, except for the color. The bruise on his face had darkened to an angry purple color, and was a darker blue/black over his cheek bone. The white of his right eye was red. Again. He raised his eyebrows. It was an interesting contrast in color. He examined his face further. The black eye Glenn had given him had faded to a muddy yellow and the bruise around the stitches in the middle of his forehead had increased in size and darkness as if to make up for it.

Daryl showered. The warm water felt good on his tired and achy muscles and he found himself getting sleepy again as he stood beneath the spray. He remedied the situation by turning the hot water faucet off completely for the last two minutes of his shower and letting the cold water beat down on him. He was wide awake and shivering when he stepped out of the shower and wrapped himself in a towel. He dressed and quietly opened the door to his room. He really needed a cup of coffee and he was hoping it was early enough so he wouldn't run into anyone in the kitchen.

* * *

Hershel was still asleep on the couch and Daryl was extra careful about stepping as silently as he could through the great room and into the dining room. He peeked into the kitchen and was relieved to find it empty. He quickly made himself a cup of coffee and then pulled two foil wrapped packages of blueberry pop-tarts out of a box in the cupboard. He closed the cupboard being careful not to let it bang shut and carried his coffee and his pop-tarts through the dining room and into the great room. After looking over to make sure he hadn't disturbed Hershel, he quietly opened the front door and let himself out onto the deck. He closed the door gently behind him and walked to the end of the dock.

It was still foggy out and mist was slowly rolling off the water. Daryl could hear ducks quacking somewhere out in the fog near the other side of the lake. He thought of grabbing his bow and taking the canoe out to confront the flock of noisy birds. He hadn't had duck for a long time. Then he remembered that the reason for that was because he didn't care for the taste of it. He put his coffee and the packages of pop-tarts down on the dock and rolled up the legs of his jeans. He lowered himself into sitting position on the edge of the dock and submerged his bare feet in the water. He sipped his coffee and listened to the birds sing their morning songs and the ducks across the lake quack to each other.

He opened the first package of pop-tarts and looked the flat pastry over. It had 'frosting' on it and multicolored sprinkles. He was sure it would taste much better if he toasted it first, but because he didn't want to risk bumping into anyone in the kitchen, he'd eat it the way it was. He ate the pop-tarts, one after the other as he guzzled his coffee. When he was finished he stuffed the foil pop-tart wrappers into one of his pockets and stood up. He walked over to the patio table and sat his coffee cup down on it; then he sat down and leaned back in one of the cushioned chairs.

Daryl couldn't get that awful dream out of his head and it was bothering him. It was bothering him _a lot_. He didn't need a shrink to tell him what it meant. That was pretty obvious. The question was, what was he going to do to fix the situation? He heard the door open and Hershel stepped out onto the deck with a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

* * *

Hershel smiled and approached the table. "Mind if I join you?"

Daryl answered Hershel with a question of his own. "Anyone else up yet?"

"Not yet. Is it okay if I sit down?" Hershel was now standing at the opposite end of the table from Daryl.

"Go 'head." Daryl replied. His right thumb moved to his mouth and he started chewing his thumbnail.

Hershel had noticed that Daryl had a tendency to chew his nails or his fingers when he was nervous. He placed his mug of coffee on the table, sat down and looked out over the water. The fog was almost completely gone and the large flock of ducks floating around on the other side of the lake could easily be seen now. Hershel looked back at Daryl and noticed Daryl was watching him. Hershel took a sip of his coffee and put the mug down and addressed Daryl. "I know you hate being asked this question, but how are you feeling this morning?"

Daryl looked out over the lake. "Jes' fine." He turned back and his eyes met Hershel's.

Hershel's eyes were transmitting the "what a crock of shit" look.

"Okay, I ain't fine, but better n' yesterday. Swellin' 's gone down on my face an' no headache this mornin'."

Hershel nodded. "I'm happy to hear that. You've sustained a lot of head trauma and I'm worried about subdural hemorrhaging. If the headaches return let me or Maggie know."

Daryl raised an eyebrow. "Subdural hemorrhaging . Bleedin' in the brain, right? Don't mean to be a smart ass, but you couldn't do nothin' to fix that anyhow, could you?"

Hershel leaned back in his chair and sighed. "When someone has subdural bleeding, a CT scan is usually done and if the bleeding area is small, a hole is drilled into the skull and the hematoma is removed. The small blood vessels usually heal on their own. A larger area of bleeding requires a craniotomy, the surgical opening of the skull to repair the damaged blood vessel. Even if we have the proper equipment here to do the surgery, I don't have the education or the experience required to even attempt it."

Daryl nodded and thought 'a simple "no" would have been fine. "I ain't worried 'bout it. Had worse hits to my head in the past an' been jes' fine so don't you worry 'bout it neither."

Hershel smiled. Daryl could be both the worst and the best of patients. "Maggie tells me your open wound is healing well. I think a dressing change once a day for now on will be sufficient and in a week or so we should be able to stitch it up and let it finish healing."

Daryl looked at his coffee cup on the table and started rotating it slowly in a circle with one hand as he watched it. "Can't I jes' change the dressin' maself? I'm sure Maggie has lots a other things she'd rather be doin' than fussin' over me."

Hershel watched with some amusement as Daryl moved his coffee cup in circles. Daryl sure was fidgety this morning. "I'd really appreciate it if you'd let Maggie keep cleaning and packing it until it's ready to be stitched. Not that I doubt your abilities or anything like that…..it's just that she's been taking care the wound and is familiar with it. If an infection took hold or if something stopped healing the way it should, she'd be able to recognize that and take the appropriate action. Once its healed to a point where it can be stitched up you'll be free of anyone tending it, at least for a week and then we'll see if the stitches can come out and that will be the end of it."

Daryl nodded but didn't move his eyes from his coffee cup. "I guess it won't kill me to have her continue to take care a' it, but only if she wants to. If she don't wanna do it, I'll do it."

Hershel cocked an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't she want to…..did you two have a disagreement? That's right, you did, didn't you?"

Daryl's eyes shot up and met Hershel's and he felt his cheeks flush. He cleared his throat and asked, "She say that?"

"No," Hershel said, "well, not exactly. She mentioned something about being a jerk to you."

Daryl snorted. "I was a jerk to her first."

Hershel reached for his coffee again. "I thought that the two of you had become friends."

Daryl sighed. "I thought so, too. Now she's all mad at me an' she don't wanna be 'roun me 't all."

Hershel rolled his eye, "Oh good grief! Just apologize to each other and move on! You're both too old to be worried about 'who started it first'. Maggie thinks you're mad at her and you don't like her anymore. You don't think she likes you anymore. I feel like I'm back in grade school passing messages between two fourth graders suffering from their first crush."

Daryl felt the rest of his face flush to match his cheeks. "It ain't like that…"

Hershel shrugged. "Sounds like it is to me. Maggie wanted me to speak to you, too, about staying put. She thinks you're planning to up and leave."

Daryl didn't say anything but his eyes moved back to stare at the floor.

Hershel was surprised. "You _are_ thinking of leaving, aren't you?"

Daryl sighed and looked at Hershel. "Yeah. Think it'd be best for all a us."

Hershel gave Daryl a sympathetic look and Daryl looked away. He hated it when people looked at him like that. He had put up with it from teachers and adults and the social service case workers when he was much younger and years later he still didn't like it.

"I don't think that would be in anyone's best interest. You're an important part of this group. You think long and hard before you come to a decision on that matter."

Daryl nodded. "I will. Been thinkin' 'bout it a lot lately."

"Just don't do anything hasty, son. Now, how long have you been having the nightmares?" Hershel asked. He tried not to smile at the look of total surprise on Daryl's face.

"Nightmares?"

"Yeah, you know, those dreams people sometimes have at night that are scary or disturbing?"

Daryl smirked. Just another example proving that Maggie was certainly her father's daughter when it came to her sarcasm skills.

He didn't see any point in denying it. "Started havin' 'em the night before I left your place."

"The night you had the fight with Shane..." it was more of a statement than a question.

Daryl nodded. "Yeah."

"I won't pry, not too much anyway, but I do have a couple questions for you. Do the nightmares involve other members of the group?"

Daryl shifted in his chair and started chewing on his thumbnail again. He looked down at his feet. "I don't know…sometimes, I guess."

Hershel tried to keep his expression and his voice neutral. "Just sometimes?"

Daryl looked up from his feet and looked Hershel in the eye. "Okay, fine. All the time. What's question number two?"

Hershel held Daryl's eyes with his own. "Do they try to do you harm in the nightmares? Are they chasing you or threatening you? Maybe trying to kill you?"

Daryl felt a lump rise in his throat and he pushed his chair back and stood up. "I'm done talkin' 'bout this." He turned to leave and had walked three steps toward the door when he turned back to Hershel. "I'm sorry. I know you're tryin' to help me, but do yourself a favor, Hershel, an' don't waste your time."

Hershel watched in silence as Daryl walked across the deck and into the house.

* * *

Hershel, Beth and Patricia left for home about two hours later. Glenn volunteered to drive them back to the farm and Dale went along as well so he and Glenn could get some hay into the barn for Hershel. This surprised the other group members as Dale had been known to have sudden flare ups of arthritis whenever physically demanding work needed to be done.

* * *

Daryl sat on the back porch and cleaned his crossbow and double and then triple checked the bow string. He'd waxed it a few days earlier and he wouldn't be firing it for at least another few days. He was damned well going to wait until the stitches in his left forearm were out before he even tried to use it. He had just brought it back into his room and set it against his dresser when there was a knock on his bedroom door. "Yeah?" he asked the door.

"I'd like to change your dressing if you've got a minute." Maggie's voice said from the other side of the door.

Daryl looked at the clock on the wall as he slid out of his boots. It was almost 12:30. "Can you come back in 'bout ten minutes?"

He heard Maggie sigh.

He tried to justify his request, "I got somethin' I gotta d..."

"You don't need to explain," Maggie interrupted. "I don't need the gory details. I'll be back in ten. Think you'll be done then?"

"Yeah, just let yourself on in. I'll be here." It took Daryl a few seconds after Maggie had moved away from the door to catch the implications in her words and he scowled. It appeared by her words that she assumed he was going to take a dump or jerk off. Damn her.

He went into the bathroom and brushed his teeth, then poked through the bathroom's cabinet, pulling out the supplies Maggie would need. Gauze, tape, tweezers, cotton swabs, sterile water, two basins, the box of latex gloves and a towel. He found the vial of the sedative and grabbed a syringe and an alcohol wipe. Daryl carried the items into his bedroom, dumped them all on his bed and then carefully set the items up on the bedside table. He sat on the edge of his bed, unwrapped the sterile needle and syringe and pulled two ml of sodium pentathol from the vial up into the syringe. He double checked the gauge on the side of the syringe and then set the vial and the needle down on the table.

Daryl glanced over and checked the clock. He was doing alright time-wise. He still had another four minutes until Maggie came back. He unbuttoned his shirt and slid out of it and pulled his t shirt off. Both shirts flew through the air and landed on the chair by the closet. He pushed against the bandage on his abdomen and winced. The damned wound was still extremely tender. He considered taking the top dressing off so she wouldn't have to, but decided not to. After all, look at all the time he'd saved her by getting all the stuff she'd need out for her. She shouldn't be mad about that, right?

* * *

Maggie knocked on the door to Daryl's room exactly four minutes after Daryl had checked the time. There was no answer so she knocked louder. "Daryl?" There was still no answer from his room. "Dammit, Dixon, if you decided to go for a walk or take off I am so going to kick your ass when you get back!" She pushed his door open and entered his room.

It took Maggie a few seconds to understand what she was seeing. Her supplies were all set out on the bedside table waiting for her and Daryl was stretched out on his bed close to the edge of it so she wouldn't have to bend or stretch too much when she was working on his wound. He was shirtless and asleep. She tromped over to the bed and slapped his arm. "What do you think..." she stopped speaking when she noticed the syringe resting in his right hand. She snatched it and looked at it and then plucked the used alcohol swab from where it rested on the bed next to his right hip. She felt anger building up inside her. Was Daryl so damned determined not to speak to her that he had set up her supplies and then sedated _himself _so he'd be sleeping when she came in to work on him? She frowned. The jerk must have figured that if he got her supplies out for her, she would take less time changing the dressing and be all finished and out of there when he woke up. How did he know how much of the sodium pentathol to use? She panicked for a second and lifted his eyelids. His pupils responded equally and his breathing was regular. His pulse was fine as well.

She considered leaving the room and then coming back to change the dressing just as he was waking up. She could tell him she lost track of the time or that she got busy doing something else. That would serve him right. Was he really that anxious about having to be in her presence? They had been friends! She had apologized for stabbing him and she felt bad about it. Why couldn't he forgive her? Why wouldn't he let her talk to him so she could apologize again? She wanted her friend back, dammit. The more she thought about it the angrier at him she became. All sorts of evil ideas popped into Maggie's head. She considered shoving his hand down the front of his pants and then pretending to discover him like that when he started to wake up. She smirked. That wasn't very nice, was it?

Maggie went into the bathroom and washed her hands and then returned to Daryl's bedside. She opened a roll of gauze and put it in a basin with some sterile water to soak and turned back to Daryl. She grabbed the corner of the top dressing and ripped it off with a flourish. Maggie had the wound repacked and bandaged in less time than it usually took and opened the bedside table's drawer to deposit the extra packages of gauze for later use. She saw something sitting in the drawer and an idea hit her. A grin spread across her face and she reached into the drawer and fished the item out.

* * *

Daryl woke up fifteen minutes later to an empty room. He yawned and slowly sat up. He looked down to check out his new dressing and gasped. Someone had gone a little nuts with a black Sharpie marker and used him as a canvas. He counted six stars scattered about, one strategically placed over each nipple, one over his belly button and three forming a triangular constellation between the other three. "We need to talk" was written above his bandage. It would have looked upside down to anyone looking at him but as he looked down it was right-side up from his perspective. Of course it was. The message was meant for him. He sighed and slid off the bed. She wanted to talk? Okay, he'd find her and they'd talk. Right after he gave her hell for using him as a graffiti board.

Daryl grumbled as he pulled his t-shirt on over his head. He stood next to his door for a moment listening for anyone moving about in the hallway or the great-room. He still wasn't ready to interact with the other group members and he was hoping he could avoid them. He just wanted to find Maggie and tell her he was ready to talk if that is what she wanted to do. He didn't hear anything that indicated anyone was hanging out in the adjoining room or hall so he took a deep breath and stepped into the hallway. He walked quickly through the empty great room and into the dining room. So far, so good.

* * *

He peeked around into the kitchen just as Andrea looked up from a cookbook on the counter.

"Hi," she said before he could retreat.

Daryl ran his fingers through his hair. "Uh…hi." He looked around the kitchen nervously. "Um..have you seen Maggie aroun'?"

Andrea smiled at him. "She came through here about ten minutes ago. She said something about finding a bucket so she could try to catch some crawdads." Andrea's smile got wider. "She said she'd changed your dressing and that you're healing well."

"Yuh, I guess so." Daryl fidgeted and looked at the floor. "Uh..how's your shoulder?"

"A little sore, but not bad. Daryl, I just want to say how sorry I am about hitting you with that gun. If I'd had any idea it was you…"

"'S okay. Jes' forget it," he said as he turned to go back to his room.

"Wait, Daryl, just a second..please?"

Daryl turned back to Andrea and looked at her expectantly. He raised an eyebrow and she burst out laughing. What the hell? "Somethin' funny?"

Andrea collected herself and stopped laughing. "Just two things. First of all, what is your favorite kind of pie? I've never cared for cooking but look at me, I'm standing here looking at recipes and this is actually sort of fun. I'd like to make you a pie, you know, to show you I'm sorry and to prove that I actually can bake something. "

Daryl smirked,. "I'm gonna be your guinea pig? 's 'at it?"

Andrea laughed again. "I'll try it first if you want. If its awful, I'll just say it isn't done yet and sneak it into the garbage," she said as she came out from behind the counter. She faced Daryl and leaned her hip against the counter and then casually reached into her shirt and adjusted her bra strap.

Daryl swallowed. Damn she was a fine looking woman. "You don't need to be makin' anythin' for me. What's the second thing?" he asked.

Andrea giggled and walked towards him. Her heart fell when he licked his lips, backed up a step and looked around wildly as if looking for an escape route. Andrea stopped walking and backed up until she stood against the counter again. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you nervous."

Daryl looked down at the floor. He was embarrassed that Andrea could see his fearfulness. "I'm still a bit wound up. An' whatcha laughin' at? You been in the booze?"

Andrea put up a hand, "If I had been, I would have invited you to join me." She bit her lip. She'd probably really scared him off with this attempt at flirting with him. What was she thinking? He was going to be embarrassed enough as it was and she needed to get him back to his room Before anyone else appeared.

"Anyway…say no more. I'm going to attempt a peach pie and Daryl, you need to get back to your room and take a look in the mirror. I'll tell Maggie you were looking for her."

* * *

Daryl was grateful that Andrea turned her back on him then and flipped the pages of the cookbook to the index. He took one last appreciative look at her ass and then walked back towards his room. Wait..she had told him he needed to take a look in the mirror. Why? Suddenly he thought he understood why and he sprinted the rest of the way to his room and yanked the door open. "Dammit, dammit, dammit!" he mumbled as he burst into the bathroom and slid to a stop in front of sink. He looked into the mirror and groaned.

"Fuckin' evil harpy!," he snarled. He should have known. If Maggie was having fun with a Sharpie, why would she limit herself to marking up his chest and his stomach? He shook his head and snorted. The twirly 'French chef' mustache she had drawn on his face with two thick, swirly black strokes was matched in absurdity only by the evil looking pointed and bushy eyebrows she'd given him. He turned the water on and soaped up a washcloth, hoping to hell the ink wouldn't be too hard to wash off. "Touche', Maggie, " he said under his breath. "Touche'."


	64. Chapter 64

**This story hasn't ended yet? I can't believe it has been almost four months since I started writing this. Thank you for sticking with me. Now if we can all survive until TWD starts up again in February...**

Andrea found the peach pie recipe and was going over the list of ingredients. She smiled. It had been so hard to keep from falling apart when Daryl had appeared behind her in his search for Maggie. She knew immediately that he had no idea that he was sporting a large, twirly black Sharpie mustache and a pair of sinister and bushy black Sharpie eyebrows. This had only served to make the situation funnier. He was so bashful and serious and his behavior so completely subdued that the angry pointy eyebrows and the silly villain's mustache seemed even more absurd. She was proud of herself in that she had been able to control her laughter for the most part. She was sure that Daryl would have been mortified if she'd fallen to the floor, laughing hysterically and pointing at him like she really wanted to. She giggled. She half expected to hear an angry bellow come from his room at any minute now as he discovered what Maggie had done to his face.

* * *

Maggie had stopped in the kitchen after changing Daryl's dressing and Andrea had noticed the sly smile on Maggie's face and called her on it. "You're smiling like the cat that ate the canary. What's up?"

Maggie had explained how she was frustrated because Daryl wouldn't talk to her. She told Andrea how Daryl had even gone through the trouble of sedating himself before she had gone in to change his dressing, just so he wouldn't have to speak to her. "He's being such a stubborn asshole!" she told Andrea. "I finished up the dressing in no time because he had been so kind as to have set out all my supplies beforehand. I knew he'd be out for at least another ten minutes, so I took advantage of the situation."

Andrea's eyes grew wide. "You did _what_?"

Maggie's eyes got wide and she grinned and smacked Andrea's arm. "What are you implying?! I didn't do anything inappropriate! Geesh, Andrea, what do you think? That I'm some kind of pervert?"

"Says the girl who gave Daryl Dixon a sponge bath while he was unconscious," Andrea teased.

Maggie's eyes got wider and she smacked Andrea again. "Stop it! He's still embarrassed about that and my intentions were pure."

"So what did you do? And for the record, if you left him lying naked on his bed, I'm heading for his room right now."

"And you call _me_ a pervert? Seriously, I found a Sharpie marker in his bedside table drawer, so I wrote him a note. On his stomach."

Andrea giggled. "Oh, please tell me that you didn't stop there!"

"I did get a little crazy. I drew a few stars on his chest and gave him a mustache and eyebrows. I was going to shove his hand down his pants, but I figured I'd done enough damage with the marker."

"Plus he might have actually enjoyed waking up like that." Andrea added.

"You_ are_ a pervert!" Maggie exclaimed.

Andrea laughed. "I can't help it if I think Daryl's hot. I've seen him naked! Call me crazy but I'd like to think that given enough time and work, I can bring down some of Daryl's walls and and get to know him better. Who knows? If that happens, maybe we'll get to a point where he'll let me see him naked up close and personal."

"Oooookay...you perv. I'm going to find a pail and try to catch some crawdads. I'd love to have some good ol' spicy Cajun crawdads for supper." She smiled at Andrea and turned towards the kitchen door. "And don't bother to check, Daryl's pants are still on. Sorry."

* * *

Daryl had stepped into the kitchen about ten minutes later and Andrea was glad that Maggie had given her a 'heads up' on what to expect. She inwardly winced when she saw how much darker the bruise on Daryl's forehead had gotten. She was proud of herself for shooing him into his room before anyone else could see Maggie's artwork and now she was excited about the prospect of making a pie. Not just a pie, a pie for Daryl. The first thing she needed to do was to see what ingredients she had. She hummed as she started to check the cupboards.

* * *

Daryl was livid. He's scrubbed and soaped up and scrubbed some more but the damned Sharpie artwork was not going away. His forehead was tender to begin with thanks to Andrea's contribution to his collection of injuries and scrubbing at the sinister ink eyebrows just made his skin red and his head ache. He rinsed the soap off his face and took another look in the mirror. The eyebrows and the mustache were still clearly visible. "_Shit_!" he yelled and he threw the bar of soap across the bathroom and then threw the wet washcloth after it. "This fuckin' shit ain't _never_ gonna come off!"

He dried his face on a towel and stomped out of the bathroom and over to his closet. He reached up and felt round on the shelf that sat in the back. After groping blindly about on the shelf, his fingers felt and closed around the neck of a bottle of Jack Daniels old No. 7. He pulled it down and then grabbed the handle of the six string guitar's case with his other hand and backed out of the closet. He placed the bottle on his bedside table and swung the guitar case up onto his bed. As he unlatched the case he calculated how many hours it had been since he'd taken Tylenol with codeine. It hadn't been quite 3am when he'd popped two of the tablets and he smirked. That had been several hours ago. Certainly enough time had passed so that he could safely have a shot or two of whiskey.

Daryl took the guitar out of the case and set it on his bed. He propped the guitar case up against the chair by the closet and grabbed the bottle of Jack Daniel's off his nightstand. He pulled the plastic wrapping off from round the cap and unscrewed it. The scent of Old No. 7 permeated the air and Daryl held the bottle under his nose and inhaled the strong, sweet, oaky scent. He closed his eyes and a small sigh escaped him. He was so going to enjoy this. He considered going to fetch a shot glass and then decided there was no need for glassware of any kind and he brought the bottle to his lips. The whiskey burned its way down his throat and lit a fire in his belly. Oh, that was good stuff. He took another swallow and then capped the bottle. He hopped up onto the bed, grabbed the guitar and sat cross legged, leaning his back against the headboard.

Daryl strummed the guitar and slightly adjusted a couple of the tuners until he was satisfied the guitar was in tune. He closed his eyes and began to play. He hummed as the fingers on his left hand moved across the frets, ignoring the pain that flared up beneath the tight stitches embedded in his left forearm. The fingers on his right hand moved across the strings, plucking here and strumming there, moving as they automatically recalled motions and sequences memorized years ago. His fingers at first were hesitant, rusty as it were. They loosened up as he played and then they were flying fluidly across the strings. Daryl moved seamlessly from one song to another, losing himself in the sound. He picked and strummed the beginning of "Stairway to Heaven", then moved into Fleetwood Mac's "Never Going Back Again" and then to Beck's "Loser".

"Stop with the pussy bullshit an' play somethin' good," Imaginary Merle demanded.

Daryl ignored him and moved into another song. He stopped and leaned toward his nightstand, reaching out to grab the bottle of Jack Daniels. He took another swig of the whiskey, closing his eyes and concentrating on the warmth spreading through his body. He swallowed yet another mouthful and then sat back.

"Whatcahdoin? Tryin' to get drunk?"

"Not tryin'. Jes' doin' it. Can't do shit. Can't hunt, can't ride, can't even go for a fuckin' walk by myself. I'm fuckin' useless."

Imaginary Merle laughed. "That ain't nothin' new, Darleena! You's always been a useless waste a breath."

"You best be shuttin' up or I'll start makin' up songs 'bout you again."

"Like hell you will. You don't wanna piss me off, baby brother."

Daryl smiled and strummed the guitar. He softly started to sing as he thought up a song on the fly.

_"Oh don't you piss off Merle,_

_He'll get his undies in a twirl,_

_He'll cry an' scream jes' like a girl_

_Run up a tree like a scart red squirrel._

_So don't,_ don't_ you piss off Merle."_

Imaginary Merle wasn't impressed. "Well that stunk worse n' a baked bean eatin' wet dog."

Daryl put the bottle of Tennessee whiskey to his lips again and drank deeply. He started strumming the guitar again. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander as he played. He smirked. Why on earth did he think drinking right now was a good idea? Getting drunk never ended well for him. His emotional responses and reactions would lurch out of control and the lid on his temper would explode, and Daryl would become an extremely emotional, high strung and volatile mess. He was usually able to resolve this problem by either getting into good knock down drag out bar fight (which did wonders for releasing all those pent up emotions) or if he was alone, simply by continuing to drink until he passed out.

Memories and feelings he habitually repressed rose up and crashed and swirled about him like ocean waves. It was okay. He was well on his way to getting shitfaced drunk and he would dance with the devil and embrace the hurt and the anger and the sadness that threatened to drown him.

He thought of Lily as he always did when he'd been drinking. He played the 'what if' game with himself for the umpteenth time. What if they'd left for Wyoming a couple of days earlier? What if they'd been more careful? What if he'd told Merle about Lily being pregnant? Would he have helped them get away? What if what if what it?

"_It's been a while since I've seen the way the candles light your face, and it's been a while, but I can still remember just the way you taste_. " He sang softly.

* * *

Maggie walked into the kitchen as Andrea was going through the cupboards. "Did you lose something?" she asked as Andrea rummaged around.

"I'm looking for ingredients for peach pie," Andrea explained.

"We don't have any peaches." Maggie told her. "Daryl likes pecan pie. We have plenty of pecans and corn syrup. Make one of those. I think they're easier to make, too."

Andrea smiled. "Pecan pie! That's a great idea!" She wasn't going to question Maggie as to how she had the inside scoop on knowing what kind of pie Daryl liked. She knew that Maggie knew Daryl much better than she did. "Daryl was looking for you."

Maggie smiled and her eyes got wide. "Did his face still..."

"It sure did!" Andrea laughed. "I'm so glad I was expecting it. Even so, it was hard for me to keep it together. He looked so ridiculous! He was standing there being all serious and when he raised an eyebrow, you know, like he does sometimes, I almost died. It was so funny to see that drawn on eyebrow jerk up like that!"

"Did you tell him?"

"No, but I felt bad for him. I didn't want him to run into anyone else like that so I sent him to his room with instructions to look in the mirror."

"Any screaming or yelling or explosions come from his room, yet?" Maggie asked.

"No, not yet." Andrea said as she thumbed through the cookbook index again. "Here it is, 'Grandma's Old Fashioned Butter Crust Pecan Pie'."

"Better make two of them." Maggie advised. "Okay, I'm going to go grab some cold cream and nail polish remover and then pay Mr. Mustache a visit. If you hear screaming and gunshots coming from his room it means he couldn't take a joke."

"Good luck!" Andrea called after her as Maggie left the room.

* * *

Maggie had retrieved the cold cream and the nail polish remover from her room and she had grabbed a jar of coconut oil as well. As she came down the stairs she heard the sound of a guitar coming from Daryl's room. She quietly walked to his room and stood outside the door and listened. Daryl was singing, softly and quietly. She put her ear to the door to listen.

_"...the way the candles light your face..."_

She stayed still. He played really well. He finished the song and she heard him sigh. She waited a few more seconds and then she knocked on his door.

"Whatchawant?" Daryl asked the door.

"Andrea said you were looking for me." Maggie answered.

"An' so I was," Daryl answered. "C'mon in."

Maggie opened the door and let herself into Daryl's room. She closed the door behind her and smiled at him sheepishly as she held the items she'd brought from her room in her arms.

Daryl put the guitar down on his bed and greeted her. "Well, if it ain't Pablo Picasso. Glad you could make it to the openin' of your new exhibit, 'Daryl Dixon as Dick Dastardly'." He slid off the bed and put the guitar in its case, then turned to face her. He motioned toward his face. "This shit _don't_ come off, you know." he snapped.

"Yes it does." Maggie retorted. "I brought some things that will help to get it off." The smell of Jack Daniels hung heavy in the air and she noticed the half full bottle of the whiskey on the nightstand. She looked at Daryl. He was glaring at her and she noticed with some amusement that he swayed slightly on his feet. "Come sit down and we'll get this stuff off you."

Daryl snorted and pulled his t-shirt off as he walked toward his bed.

Maggie smiled a small smile. Daryl used to be so hesitant about letting her see his back and his chest because he was so self conscious about his scars. Now he didn't think twice about exposing them to her.

"I'm going to get a few hand towels," she told Daryl and she disappeared into his bathroom and returned carrying a small stack of them.

Daryl watched her and took another swig of Jack Daniels.

Maggie set the coconut oil, nail polish remover and the cold cream on the bedside table next to the whiskey bottle. "Look, I'm sorry, but..." Daryl raised an eyebrow and Maggie burst into laughter.

"Sure. You sound _real_ sorry." Daryl snapped.

Maggie giggled as she regained control. "You can't be doing that. You can't be lifting an eyebrow when you've got those things drawn..."

Daryl lifted one eyebrow and then the other. "You mean like this?" He did it again and then he lifted both together.

Maggie exploded into laughter again. "Dammit, Daryl, stop that!"

Daryl stopped, but he was smiling.

"Okay, I'll try again, " Maggie said as she poured some nail polish remover on one of the towels. "I really am sorry, but I was furious with you." She pressed the solution soaked towel against one of the stars on Daryl's stomach.

He jumped. That stuff was cold!

"I can't believe you sedated yourself just to keep from talking to me!"

"It's fuckin' hard for me to even look at you most a the time! I can't help that. Its hard for me to have you touchin' me right now, too, dammit. 'Specially now that you don't like me no more."

"Daryl, I do like you. A lot. Otherwise you blowing me off wouldn't bother me."

He looked at her and she could see the doubt and the embarrassment in his eyes. "What can I do to fix this?" Maggie asked as she scrubbed at another star.

"Nothin'. We can't change the past. Here," he took the towel from her. "I'll do this."

"Okay. I'll get your face." Maggie said and she opened the jar of cold cream and dipped the corner of another hand towel into it. She carefully spread it across the Sharpie eyebrows being careful not to bump the center of Daryl's forehead of the surrounding bruise. Daryl kept his head perfectly still and closed his eyes. The cold cream did a great job at removing the black ink and Maggie started rubbing cold cream into Daryl's twirly Sharpie mustache.

"I can do that." he grumbled and she gave up the towel to him as she reclaimed the one on his belly. She dipped another towel in coconut oil and rubbed at the message she'd written him.

"I said I can do it." he told her. "All of it."

Maggie sighed. "Daryl, I'm not leaving. We need to talk. I miss my friend. I want to fix this."

Daryl exploded. "You fuckin' saw me naked, dammit! You know how fuckin' humiliated I feel? Then you give me back my knife and you say you wanna fix this? I call total unadulterated bullshit on that!" He leaned in closer to her face and she could smell the whiskey on his breath. "Now I'm only tellin' you this 'cause I'm almost drunk," he whispered conspiratorially, "but it really hurt when you returned my knife. Had a dream after, dreamed you stabbed me in the heart with it. What do you think Freud would have to say about that?" He leaned back again and scrubbed at the Sharpy mustache.

Maggie was dumbfounded. "You had a dream that I killed you?"

Daryl checked the towel he was using to scrub his face with and was pleased to see the ink on the towel. He scrubbed the other side of his face pushing the cold cream around through his whiskers.

"Yeah. Ain't no big deal. You hadn't had a turn yet. I ain't sure what happens after everone's got their shot in. Maybe it starts all over, guess I'll find out soon enough."

Maggie felt like someone had hit her. Daryl dreamed about the members of the group killing him? That was so messed up! "Daryl, I'd never hurt you..." she stopped as she looked at the stitches on his left forearm. "on purpose," she finished.

Daryl's eyes met hers. "Don't make promises you can't keep. An' don't give me that shit about wantin' to be friends. You gave me back that knife I gave you 'cause you didn't want it or my friendship. Don't matter. Can't get comfortable 'roun you anymore since.. "

"Daryl, I wanted to keep the knife! Carol and I almost came to blows over it when we thought the hostiles had killed you! I thought you didn't like me and you didn't want me to have it anymore! I thought you hated me. I didn't mean to hurt you, I didn't mean to stab you! I didn't know it was you!"

Daryl swung his legs over the side of the bed and slid off it. "What a clusterfuck. See? This is why carin' ain't a good idear." He walked toward the bathroom. "Never hated you, never could." He closed the bathroom door behind him.

Maggie sighed. She looked over at the bottle of Jack Daniels on the bedside table and figured why the hell not? She unscrewed the cap and tipped the bottle up to her mouth. She took a swallow and then another. It wasn't bad. Sort of sweet and hot at the same time.

Daryl emerged from the bathroom wiping his face on a towel. He was surprised to see Maggie sitting on his bed holding his bottle of Jack Daniels. Her eyes were big. She'd been caught.

"Hey! Stay outta that!" he scolded.

"Maybe I want to get drunk, too."

"You do not."

"So you're still uncomfortable around me because I saw you naked?"

Daryl blushed. "Yeah, okay? Yeah. An' you didn't _jes'_ see me naked, either."

"I thought I was helping! I never should have told you."

"Never should a told me? You never should a _touched_ me!"

"I only touched you enough to wash the blood off you! You need to get over it! I did it because I care about you, dammit!"

Daryl sighed and climbed back on his bed next to Maggie. "You still...saw everything. Ever time you look at me now I feel like I'm fuckin' standin' here naked in front a you."

Maggie noticed he had gotten most of the marker off his stomach and his chest as well.

He took a deep breath and reached for the bottle in her lap and took another drink from it.

"Are you drunk yet?" she asked.

"Well, let's see. I'm not the fig plucker, I'm the fig plucker's son, but I'll pluck figs 'til the fig pluckin's done. Nope. Not drunk yet."

"What the heck was that?"

"Sobriety test." Daryl explained. "You try it. I'm not the fig plucker..." he looked at her expectantly.

"I'm not the fig plucker," she repeated.

"I'm the fig plucker's son."

"I'm the fig plucker's son."

"An' I'll pluck figs 'til the fig pluckin's done."

"And I'll fuck pigs 'til the pig fuckin's done." Maggie gasped and threw her hand over her mouth.

Daryl laughed. "No more for you, missy."

Maggie smiled. "I need to.." she pointed to the bathroom and Daryl nodded.

"Don't forget to flush," he called after her.

* * *

Maggie entered the bathroom and closed the door behind her. She took a deep breath and exhaled. She wasn't going to let this friendship fail and it was time to end this foolishness. Daryl said he felt naked in front of her every time she looked at him. It was time to give him a new image to remember. Maggie slipped out of her jeans and her panties. For now on Daryl wouldn't feel naked in front of her when he saw her. She pulled her shirt off over her head and reached behind her back and unhitched her bra. For now on when Daryl saw her, he would see a new image; an image Maggie was determined to burn into his mind to replace the uneasiness he felt when he saw her. She smiled as she folded her clothes. Well, this might make him uneasy, too, but in a better way. Maggie smiled, opened the door and stepped back into Daryl's room.


	65. Chapter 65

**Here we go...WARNING: You are probably going to either love this chapter or hate it. I don't know if there will be any middle ground. Thanks for the reviews for the last chapter, it warmed my cold little evil heart and I was amazed at how many of you were so anxious to see what happens next. So...without further delay...here is what happens next !**

Carol was out tending the garden when she saw Maggie go back into the house through the back door. She wanted to stop Maggie and ask her how Daryl was doing since Daryl wasn't seeing anyone else yet. Carol didn't think it was entirely fair, but from what she'd heard, Daryl hadn't been speaking to Maggie any more than he had been speaking to the rest of them. She had overheard Glenn telling Andrea that when Maggie had gone in to change Daryl's dressing yesterday, Daryl had insisted that she sedate him immediately and do what she had to do and get out. She guessed she couldn't really blame Daryl for being that way. The man was injured and he had always been a man that preferred his solitude. Carol smiled. He reminded her in so many ways of a wild animal. He preferred being outdoors to being inside, he was an amazing hunter and when he was injured, he preferred to hide himself away from others and lick his wounds in private.

Carol was suspicious of Maggie and Daryl's friendship and felt that it probably went beyond a simple friendship relationship. She found that to be somewhat inappropriate. After all, Daryl was twelve years older than Maggie so he was obviously much too old for her and besides, Maggie already had Glenn. Something had happened between them though. Why else would Glenn have hit Daryl in the face? Carol shook her head as she dug up some sun-chokes. Her mind wandered as she worked. She had more in common with Daryl than anyone else in the group did. They were both victims of abuse and they'd both lost the most important person in their lives and now neither of them had any family left. They were close in age, too. Carol was only three years older than Daryl. She scowled remembering how Glenn had been so amazed to find out how close she and Daryl were in age.

* * *

One evening at the farm after Daryl had come in from looking for Sophia, it had come up how close in age Daryl and Andrea and Carol were. As they sat around the fire, Glenn had exclaimed that he was sure Carol was at least ten years older than Daryl and Andrea because of her gray hair. He was shocked to learn her age and said so. "Wow, Carol, I figured you had to be at least fifty," he'd said. Tactless little shit. Andrea had given Glenn an intense dirty look and he had looked at Andrea and then at Carol with confusion written all over his face. "What? What did I do?" the fool had asked. Andrea had rolled her eyes and thrown up her hands before she stomped away from the fire with Carol right behind her. Daryl had just laughed.

Later that evening, Dale had taken Glenn aside and gently explained the dangers involving women and discussions regarding their ages. "Always err on the lower side and always go at least five years lower than your lowest best guess." Dale had told him. "Better yet, when a woman asks you how old you think she is, just get up and leave. It is _always_ a trick question. Say you're feeling sick or you have to use the bathroom. You can even pull the diarrhea card; anything to get out of the room." Glenn was grateful for the advice and had told Dale so.

* * *

Carol shook the dirt off the sun-chokes and put them in the basket on the ground next to her. The green pole bean plants were loaded with pale green string beans and Carol picked up another basket. She moved her hands through the vines, picking the beans and occasionally biting into a fresh crunchy bean while she picked. It was sort of sad, she thought, that the family that had planted and cared for this garden didn't get to enjoy the fruits of their labor. It was a blessing to the group, though, and Carol smiled as she realized that if it had been her garden, she would have been happier to think that someone would enjoy the produce rather than let it rot where it had grown. She hummed as she picked and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on her shoulders.

* * *

Lori felt like crap. She had been sick all morning and now it was afternoon and she still was nauseous. Rick had been kind and gentle, much kinder and gentler to her than she knew she deserved. He had brought her saltines and herbal tea in the morning and at lunch time he had brought her some chicken broth and iced tea. She had sipped at the broth and drank all the tea and the iced tea as she didn't want to risk becoming dehydrated. Rick had rubbed her back and told her everything would be okay and she hated herself for what she had put him through. She had been so tired and he had left and then come back with a couple of DVDs. She had told Rick that she had wanted to see something mindless and funny and he brought in 'Anchorman', '40 Year Old Virgin', and 'Zoolander'. He had left the DVDs with and left her alone after kissing her forehead.

She smiled as she looked at the cover of '40 Year Old Virgin'. "40 Year Old Virgin," she said to herself with amusement, "The Daryl Dixon Story." She smiled. She remembered a night several months ago when the survivors had been sitting around a fire one night. This was before Rick's return and Shane was in charge. Merle had been drinking and was sitting near the fire with everyone else and he was teasing the hell out of Daryl. Lori remembered actually feeling bad for the younger Dixon. "Ol' Darleena ain't been wit' a woman for years. You're sort of a born again virgin, ain't ya boy? Or are you jes' in love with tha' big strong bowstring pullin' hand a yours?" This had brought a few guffaws and giggles from the others seated around the campfire and Daryl had shot up off of the log he had been sitting on and wordlessly stalked off into the dark woods. Lori sighed. She had hated Daryl because of the threat he'd posed to her and Shane and their relationship. Now Shane was gone and she was trying to work things out with Rick and she was lying on a comfortable bed in a comfortable house preparing to watch a silly movie.

They had almost lost the house to invaders and Lori now had a whole new appreciation for the place. Rick had told her he was quite sure that the group of soldiers they had encountered was the last of the group from Savannah and Atlanta and that they would be better prepared if anyone attacked again. Lori knew that they were all in this house because of Daryl and that Rick was still alive because of Daryl. Some day she would get up enough courage to apologize to him for what she'd done. Until then, she would be grateful for the roof over her head and the comfort the house offered. She pushed the DVD disc into the player and crawled back up onto the bed with the remote control. She settled herself back into the bank of pillows at the head of the bed and pressed 'play'.

* * *

Daryl heard the bathroom door open. "I din't hear you flush or wash your ha.." Daryl stopped speaking abruptly as Maggie stepped out into the middle of his room. He rubbed his eyes. Surely, he couldn't really be seeing what he thought he was seeing. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He tried again and a hoarse "Uuuuhhh" was all he could manage.

Maggie stood there, in all her naked glory and smiled at him.

There was a knock on the door.

Maggie's eyes got big and she put her finger to her lips in a "shhhh" motion and jogged soundlessly back to the bathroom, quietly closing the door behind her.

There was another knock on the door.

Daryl shook his head to try to clear it and reached down towards the end of his bed and grabbed the serape there and pulled it over his lap. "Who...who is it?" he asked and mentally cursed himself as his voice cracked.

"It's Carol," said a voice on the other side of the door. "I just wondered if you'd like me to bring you something to eat. You must be getting hungry. It's almost 2:30 and you haven't had any lunch."

Daryl frowned. How did she know that? "Thanks, but I'm good."

There was a pause, then the voice spoke again. "Did I wake you up? You sound like you were sleeping."

Daryl cleared his throat. "No, I's jes' gettin' ready to take a nap."

Carol was silent for a few seconds, "I hope you're feeling better and Daryl, if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm a pretty good listener. "

Daryl closed his eyes. "Thanks, Carol, I'll keep that in mind."

"Okay. Just holler if you need anything."

Daryl heard her walk away and exhaled a sigh of relief. He was getting ready to slide off the bed when the bathroom door opened and Maggie stepped out into his room, still naked.

She smiled at him and put her finger to her lips again. "You just sit tight, Tiger, I'm going to lock the door," she said as she tip toed across the room. When she reached the door she turned the dead bolt and pushed the door handle lock button in. She turned around to face Daryl and leaned back against the door behind her. Daryl's mouth was open in a surprised 'O' again and his blue eyes were wide. Maggie smiled and slowly walked toward him, putting a little extra swing into her hips as she approached him. God, he was adorable. He looked bashful and confused and his hands nervously fiddled with the serape spread across his lap, moving it and smoothing it out and clutching it with hands that didn't have any idea what to do.

Daryl was finally able to choke some words out. "What…..what are you doin'?" What the hell _was_ she doing? Trying to give him a heart attack? He pulled the serape up further over his lap in an effort to hide what the sight of her parading around naked had done to him. His jeans became uncomfortably tight as his body reacted. He couldn't help it. His eyes moved across her body and he heard a low moan escape from his lips. Her skin was pale, milky white where clothing usually covered it and it was smooth and unblemished. It was quite a contrast to her tanned and freckled face, neck and upper chest. Her arms and legs were tanned as well. Her breasts were perfect, not too big, not too small, with perky upturned nipples.

Maggie smiled and lifted her arms a bit from her sides, palms forward. She shook her breasts at him. "You like?" she asked.

Daryl swallowed. "I….I feel like...like a deer caught 'n.."

Maggie put her hands under her breasts and jiggled them and laughed. "..in the headlights?"

Daryl smiled and shifted uncomfortably. "Yeah, the headlights." He tried to look away but he just couldn't. "Why…why 'r you doin' this?"

"Because I'm not willing to let our friendship die. It bothers you that I saw you naked. Now you're seeing me naked. We're even. Well, almost." She slowly turned around so her back was to him and Daryl felt a tingling in his crotch and heat rising in his gut.

"Good Lord, Maggie, you tryin' to kill me?"

Maggie looked over her shoulder at Daryl. "Of course not." He looked extremely uncomfortable but he wouldn't move his eyes from her. She noticed his baby blues were focused on her ass and she wiggled it back and forth. Then she smacked it with her open hand and he jumped a little. "Think I would have made a good stripper?" she asked him as she turned to face him and started rotating her hips and running her hands up and down her sides. She spread her legs apart and bent forward, running her hands down each leg to her ankle and then sliding them back up the length of her legs as she straightened up. She heard Daryl's breath hitch and she grinned.

"You gotta stop…stop or I'm gonna.." He licked his lips, "I'm gonna.."

Maggie strutted up to him and whipped the serape off his lap. She leaned in and whispered in his ear, "or you're gonna _what_?" She grabbed his right hand and pulled on it. "C'mon, stand up, if you can, Daryl McDrunky. We need to even the score completely."

Daryl stood and she backed up and led him to the middle of the bedroom floor. She licked her lips and looked up at him. He looked down at her with half closed eyes and she saw something in them she'd never seen there. Lust. She reached down and took his rough hands in hers and lifted them, placing each one on a breast. He caught his breath and closed his eyes. Maggie slid her hands up Daryl's side, then put her arms around him, being careful not to touch his injury. His hands moved off her breasts and around her and then he was pressing himself against her and she could feel the hard ridge of his erection through his jeans as it pushed against her stomach. She closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn't help it, she was lost in the moment. She moved her arms up and around his neck and pulled him down, pressing her lips against his, tasting Jack Daniels. She felt him tremble and he went to pull away, but she used her arms to stop him and to pull him in for another kiss. No tongue, just a press of the lips and damn, he was shaking. She rubbed her hips against him and he gasped and she felt his erection twitch against her.

"We can't…" he breathed heavily.

"We're not," she said as she kissed his lips and then moved down, leaving a small trail of kisses down his neck. A moan escaped him and she felt it rumble through his chest. She tasted the saltiness of his skin and she could feel his heart thumping fast and strong as she pressed her chest tighter against his. His hands slid down over her ass and he kneaded it with both hands as his breathing got deeper and faster. He rested his chin on her shoulder and she could feel his hot breath on her neck and then in her ear. "Damn, you feel so nice," he murmured in her ear. "You're so soft."

Maggie slid a hand down his side and rested it on his hip. She pulled her hips away from his, reached her hand between their bodies and she fondled the bulge in his pants. "You're not." she said in a sultry, husky voice.

"Fuck... Maggie," Daryl breathed heavily in her ear. "you can't do that or I'm gonna .." Maggie pressed her hand against his hardness and he sucked in a breath. "You can't be.." She stroked him through his jeans and grasped him and gave him a squeeze, then held him in her grip and Daryl cried out. His body jerked as he came and she felt him release as he spasmed beneath her hand. His arms pulled her closer to him and he caressed her shoulders and her back as he moaned and whispered in her ear. "You're so beautiful, Maggie. So fuckin' beautiful…You're my best friend an' I ain't gonna let nothin' ever hurt you. I promise. Ah'd die for you, Maggie."

Maggie held him and rested her head on his chest. She listened to his heart pounding and felt the warmth of his strong arms around her and it felt safe and as wrong as it was, it felt _right_. They stood there, just holding each other for a few minutes and then Maggie put her hand on his chin and gently pulled him into a kiss. It was a gentle, touch of the lips kiss and then she was pulling away from him and heading toward the bathroom. He watched her as she went and she turned and smiled at him. "Don't you go anywhere. I'll be right back." she said as she pointed a finger at him.

Daryl backed up until his legs bumped his bed and he sat down. He was in a daze. Did this all really just happen? The wetness he felt in the front of his jeans, the semi hard part of him, the warm glow he felt through his body and the returning of his breathing to normal indicated that yes, it really had happened.

What had he done? What had she done? Were they crazy?

Maggie came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, fully clothed again. She smiled at him and sat down on the bed next to him. "Why don't you go clean up, Tiger. I'll wait."

"I'm sorry." Daryl said, "I can't believe I.."

Maggie shushed him. "Go clean up and then we'll talk."

Daryl swallowed and nodded as he stood up and stumbled toward his dresser. He pulled a pair of boxers and a pair of jeans out of the drawer and trudged to his bathroom.

Maggie unscrewed the cap on the bottle of Jack Daniels and swallowed another mouthful of it as she waited for Daryl.

Daryl washed himself up and pulled on his fresh boxers and his jeans. He looked in the mirror over the sink as he washed his hands. What the hell had he just done? He had obviously let Maggie have too much of that Jack Daniels and now look what had happened. As soon as she sobered up she would totally regret what happened, she'd tell Glenn and Glenn would probably come for him with a weapon this time. He sighed. So what, he decided. It was worth it. It was so worth it.

Maggie smiled at Daryl when he came out of the bathroom and she patted the bed next to her. "Come sit down."

Daryl sat next to her and scooted away from her a bit. She scooted towards him and he scooted away a bit more. She scooted over until she was pressed right against him. He sighed. "Why you doin' that? Don't you think I've done enough damage for one day?"

Maggie took Daryl's hand and held it tight when he tried to pull it away from her. "Now you listen to me and you listen good. What just happened between us happened because I wanted it to. Don't get me wrong, I love Glenn, but I love you, too." Daryl started to protest and she shushed him. "Stop that and let me explain." She took a deep breath. "When I thought we'd lost you to the hostiles...when I thought I'd lost you, I was devastated. I had to get away from everyone. Even Glenn. I just wanted to be alone and cry. I thought I'd never see your eyes again, your stupid smirk, and it was killing me. Glenn came to talk to me and he told me that he knew you loved me and that I loved you, too. Of course I explained to him that you don't have it in you to love anyone and Glenn said he would rather believe that you loved me than that you didn't have it in you to love."

Daryl swallowed. She was right. He didn't have it in him to love anyone.

Maggie put her hand on Daryl's cheek. "I told Glenn I loved you as friend and that was all and he said he thought I had deeper feelings for you than that. Then he said that he was okay with it. He was okay if we loved each other because he knew we'd never act on it. He knew that you would never try to take me away from him and that I wouldn't leave him for you. Now don't you dare feel guilty about what just happened. I instigated this and I wanted it. It was a 'friends with benefits' moment. We kissed, but we didn't make out. There was no penetration, with tongues or otherwise. I didn't suck your dick and you didn't fuck me."

Daryl sighed, "Such a lady."

Maggie grinned. "I will not feel guilty about this and I enjoyed it. I'm sorry if I got carried away and if I made you feel uncomfortable."

Daryl snorted. "Hell, I haven't felt that 'comfortable' in a long time." he blushed. "which is prolly why I was so quick on the 'm just afraid you're gonna regret it or its gonna make thins' funny... or your boyfriend's gonna wanna shoot me."

Maggie slid back further on the bed and put her hands on the back of Daryl's shoulders and started to knead and massage them. "I regret nothing. There aren't a lot of people in this world anymore," Maggie said as she pressed harder into Daryl's tight shoulder and back muscles. "and you're my best friend. I love you and I don't use that word lightly."

Daryl leaned back into her as she continued to work out the knots in his back. "You're nuts to care 'bout me." he mumbled.

"I am not. You walk a thin line, Tiger, I've almost lost you too many times. I'm not going to hold back how I feel when today could be the last day of my life of the last day of your life." She stopped massaging his back. "Lie down here on your side and let me work out the rest of the knots in your back. I can't believe how tight your muscles are."

Daryl did as she asked. "You sure it's not jes' the booze talkin'?"

Maggie repositioned herself behind Daryl on he bed and started kneading his back again. "I'm sure. And by the way, where is my knife?"

Daryl smiled. "Mirrored dresser. Top drawer, lef' side."

Maggie rubbed and massaged Daryl's back. She stopped occasionally to trace a scar with her finger and he didn't reprimand her. After ten minutes his breathing deepened and his body relaxed. She smiled. "Daryl?" she asked quietly. "Are you asleep? Don't answer me if you are." He didn't answer her and she quietly slid off the bed. She stopped next to his dresser on her way out of his room and opened the top left drawer to retrieve his hunting knife. Her hunting knife. She gathered up her nail polish remover, the cold cream and the coconut oil, stepped out of his room into the hallway and quietly closed the door behind her. She smiled and hummed to herself as she climbed the steps to the second floor. No, she thought, no regrets at all.


	66. Chapter 66

**The pace will pick up a bit after this chapter. I promise! After all, we can't have too many guts and gore free chapters now, can we?**

Carol had been coming out of the laundry room when she saw the door to Daryl's room slowly open. She retreated back into the laundry room and listened. She heard Daryl's door close and she waited a few seconds before she peeked out of the doorway and saw Maggie looking up the stairs. She noticed Maggie was holding some items, one of them being Daryl's hunting knife. Carol heard Maggie humming as she climbed the stairs and she waited until Maggie was out of sight before she approached Daryl's room.

She stood outside the door for a moment and then knocked. There was no answer so she knocked again. When her second round of knocks failed to elicit a response, she slowly turned the doorknob. The door wasn't locked and Carol opened the door far enough so she could peek inside. She smiled at what she saw. Daryl was asleep on his bed. He was on his right side and was hugging a pillow close to his chest. Carol slid into the room and quietly closed the door behind her. She wrinkled her nose when the overwhelming smell of Jack Daniels hit her and she raised her eyebrows in alarm. Daryl knew better than to be drinking if he was taking pain meds, didn't he? She quietly approached the sleeping man and looked him over. He reeked of Jack Daniels, but he was breathing just fine and his color was good. She smiled. The tough, angry, scowly Daryl the group all knew didn't look anything like the drunk, relaxed, sleeping Daryl with his chin resting on the big fluffy pillow he clutched in his arms.

Carol was puzzled. If Daryl was sleeping, what the heck had Maggie been doing in his room? Carol pulled the serape at the end of the bed up over Daryl's bare feet and then quietly walked into the bathroom. She decided that she would take any used towels and clothes he had left in the bathroom down to the laundry room and wash them. Surely he wouldn't mind if she did that for him.

She was surprised to find a lot of hand towels in a pile against the bathtub. There was a pair of Daryl's jeans thrown on top of the pile of towels and she smirked when she saw that he hadn't bothered to remove his belt from them. His boxers were stuffed inside them as well. As she gathered the towels up she began to wonder just what Maggie had been doing in Daryl's room. Was he sleeping when she came in and did she just take whatever he had borrowed from her and leave? She did have quite a few things in her hands as she left the room. Was she going to give him back his knife but he was sleeping so she decided to come back later?

Carol picked up another towel and something small fell out of it and rolled a couple of feet across the bathroom floor. Carol reached down and picked it up. It was an earring. Carol recognized the round, pretty green faceted stone. Maggie wore those earrings a lot. How would one of Maggie's earrings have ended up on the floor in Daryl's bathroom or in one of Daryl's towels? It didn't seem likely that she'd lose it while changing his dressing. She scooped up the pile of linens and Daryl's jeans and his boxers and carefully and quietly walked back out into the bedroom.

She was almost to the door when Daryl groaned. She stopped in her tracks and slowly turned to look at him, expecting to see him glaring at her with those arctic blue eyes. The mattress springs creaked as he shifted in his sleep and rolled onto his back, still clinging to the pillow. His deep breathing resumed shortly thereafter and Carol breathed a small sigh of relief. She put her ear to the door in an attempt to hear if there was anyone in the hall. It was quiet, so she opened the door and peeked out. No one was there, and she quickly stepped into the hall and gently closed the door to Daryl's room behind her.

Carol hurried down the hallway with the bundle of laundry in her arms. She entered the laundry room and thew the pile of clothes on the floor in front of the washer and dryer. She examined the towels as she tossed them one by one into the washing machine. Some of the lighter ones had something black on them. She sighed. Probably crossbow lubricant or motorcycle oil or some other 'nearly impossible to get out' stain making substance. She sprayed some pre-wash spray on the stains before tossing those towels into the washer.

Carol picked up Daryl's jeans and reached into the pockets to make sure they were empty before she laundered them. She sighed as she brought out a couple of bullet casings, a small smooth round gray stone, a bumpy pure white quartz pebble, an 1889CC Morgan silver dollar, a Zippo lighter, a jackknife and his motorcycle key. Carol placed all these treasures on the small table next to the machines. She started to pull Daryl's belt out of the jeans' belt loops and her hand came into contact with something wet and sticky inside the front of the jeans. She frowned and examined them a bit closer. Her eyes grew wide. Was that..? She dropped the jeans and grabbed Daryl's boxers and inspected them, then smirked. It appeared that someone had been lovin' on himself quite recently. She giggled to herself and then a bothersome thought entered her head.

Maggie had been in Daryl's room. Somehow one of her earrings had come off in the bathroom. How long had Maggie been in there? Was she there before Daryl fell asleep? Carol fished the small green earring out of her pocket and looked at it for a moment, then she slipped it back into her pocket and left the laundry room.

* * *

Maggie had curled up in the wing back chair by the window and was absorbed in her reading. Daryl had told her how much he liked Clive Cussler's 'Dirk Pitt' stories and apparently the teenaged boy that had occupied the room before she and Glenn had moved in had liked the author, too. She was reading 'Sahara' and was surprised and delighted to find that she really liked it. Daryl had described the book's main character as a cross between Jacques Cousteau and James Bond and she found the description to be fitting. She turned the page and there was a knock on the bedroom door. "Come in." Maggie called towards the door.

The door opened and Carol walked in and greeted her. "Hi Maggie."

Maggie dog-eared the page she was on in the book and then closed it and put it on the window sill. She felt a bit awkward around Carol since she'd reclaimed Daryl's hunting knife from her. "Hi, Carol. What can I do for you? Do you need some help with something?"

Carol approached Maggie.. "No, not at all. I found something that I think belongs to you and I wanted to return it." Carol wrinkled her nose. Maggie smelled like Jack Daniels, although nowhere nearly as bad as Daryl or Daryl's room did. "Have you been drinking, Maggie?" she asked. "I can smell alcohol."

Maggie blushed. "Daryl talked me into having a drink with him when I finished changing his dressing a while ago."

Carol stopped in front of Maggie and reached into her pocket, "Is he taking pain meds, because he shouldn't be drinking if he is."

"He hasn't taken anything for pain all day."

Carol held out her closed hand to Maggie.

"What's this?" Maggie asked.

"Your earring." Carol said. She noticed that Maggie was wearing the matching earring and obviously hadn't realized that its mate was missing.

Maggie's eyes got wide and she pasted on a big fake smile. "Thank you, Carol. These are my favorite earrings. I didn't realize one was missing."

Carol nodded and fake smiled back at Maggie. "I'm sure you didn't. You'll never guess where I found it. I was gathering Daryl's laundry and it was on the floor in his bathroom."

Maggie narrowed her eyes at Carol. Daryl had been sound asleep when Maggie left his room less than a half hour ago. Had Carol just gone in and grabbed his laundry without waking him and asking if it was okay? Of course she had. Daryl's clothing in the bathroom bore evidence of a 'private activity' and Maggie was quite sure there was no way in hell that Daryl would want Carol to see, let alone handle, those clothes. "What were you doing in Daryl's bathroom?" Maggie asked Carol.

"I could ask you the same," Carol replied. "but I'm pretty sure I know what you were doing in there and it didn't have anything to do with changing his dressing."

Maggie's eyes grew wide and Carol leaned in so her face was right in front of Maggie's. "Here's a little hint for you, next time try swallowing, it gets rid of the evidence and I'm sure Daryl would appreciate it, too."

Maggie exploded, "You don't know what the hell you're talking about you vile woman! Get out of my room!"

Carol turned and walked towards the door. She turned around before she stepped out into the hallway.

"Oh. By the way Maggie," she said smugly, "Your shirt is on inside out."

The door closed and Maggie threw her book at it. She looked down at the black tank top she had on. It _was _on inside out. She grit her teeth and let out an exasperated groan. Maggie decided that the minute Glenn got back from the farm, she would pull him into their room and pull out all the stops. She was going to knock his socks off and she decided she'd even let him do some of those risqué things he'd wanted to try in bed, even though the mere thought of them disgusted her. What the hell was wrong with men anyway? How could they possibly think that something like that would be enjoyable? Yes, she would let him do whatever he wanted and then, when he was all relaxed and exhausted, she would tell him what had gone on between her and Daryl. Glenn would surely understand and she wanted to be the one to tell him. If Carol got hold of Glenn first and filled him in on what she had found and what she suspected had gone on, things could get ugly. Maggie decided that she would take a long bath and shave her legs and make sure she dabbed a bit of Glenn's favorite perfume, Eternity, behind her ears and on her pulse points. Then she would slide into the saucy little red lace negligee she'd found while helping Andrea and Carol go through clothes in the room they now shared.

* * *

It was still in it's Victoria's Secret box and she and Andrea almost came to blows over it until Andrea found a couple more lingerie boxes in a different drawer. These newly found boxes contained a couple of outrageous bustier dominatrix type 'outfits' and Andrea shrieked with delight upon opening them.

Maggie and Carol rolled their eyes and Carol said, "I'm surprised. You don't strike me as the S & M type, Andrea."

Maggie laughed. "I'm not surprised at all." she giggled. "If you want me to, I could grab a riding crop for you the next time I'm home. You know, just to complete your outfits. Not that you'd use it."

Andrea held the black leather-like bustier with the tiny chain accents up against her chest and frowned at the other two women. "Yeah?" she said. "Well phooey on you guys. Sticks and stones may break my bones but whips and chains excite me."

Maggie and Carol burst into laughter.

Andrea sighed. "Its sad that there isn't really anyone for me to wear it for. Rick is with Lori and Glenn is with you, Maggie."

"What about Dale or Hershel?" Carol teased.

"Or Daryl?" Maggie added.

Andrea screwed up her face and looked at Carol. "First of all, Carol? Ewwwwww! I mean, I love Dale and he was a knight in shining armor for me and Amy when he took us in as the world started going to hell, but I am in no way physically attracted to him or to Hershel. No offense, Maggie."

Maggie shook her head with wide eyes, "Oh heavens, none taken! Actually if you had said you were attracted to my father I think I probably would have thrown up in my mouth a little bit." This comment was met with more laughter from the women. Maggie was going to mention Daryl again and then she almost kicked herself as she realized how inappropriate that would be.

Andrea and Carol were wise enough not to mention his name again, either. Daryl and whips and chains? With the scars on his body mutely telling tales of torture and pain and whippings with a belt or God knows what, it was pretty obvious that Daryl probably wouldn't find the 'mock threat' of being whipped to be much of a turn on.

* * *

Maggie did some more planning in her head. She would light some scented candles, definitely, and maybe she and Glenn could share a glass of wine. She suddenly remembered the drunk and hiccupping Glenn she'd recently shared a bed with. Scratch that glass of wine, she thought.

* * *

Andrea smiled as she removed the pies from the oven and placed them on the cooling racks she'd put on the counter. The pies smelled wonderful. She removed the oven mitts from her hands and placed them on the counter, then she looked at the surface of the kitchen island and sighed. It was a mess. A thin layer of flour covered more than half of the granite and the shells from half a dozen eggs were strewn around, dripping egg white into the flour and creating a gluey substance. Andrea had been more careful with the sugar and only about a quarter of a cup of it had found its way onto the counter top. She wasn't sure where to begin and then an idea hit her and she reached for the garage key on the key-holder by the kitchen door and sprinted out to the garage. She returned to the kitchen lugging the big red 20 gallon Craftsman Shop-Vac and it's hoses. She snapped the hose attachment together and turned the thing on. It was like it had a life of its own and it sucked up the mess on the counter in no time, including the egg shells. She heard the motor on the vacuum cleaner get a bit louder as a dish cloth she had left on the counter disappeared down the hungry monster's hose before she could grab it to pull it out and then there was a satisfying thump as the dishcloth left the hose and entered the Shop-Vac's belly. Andrea wouldn't have been surprised if she'd heard the thing burp. She shut it off and wiped down the counters and then vacuumed the floor in the kitchen before she returned the Shop Vac to its place in the garage.

Andrea was pleased with herself. She had never cared for the 'domestic arts' but she was really enjoying performing these tasks and it surprised her. She filled one side of the sink with hot soapy water and opened the dishwasher. She had just started to tackle the bowls and utensils she'd used to make the pies when Rick entered the kitchen.

"Something smells really, r_eally _good!" he exclaimed.

Andrea could hardly contain her excitement. "I made pecan pies!" she gushed. She smiled at Rick. A test subject! "Would you like a piece with a cup of coffee?"

Rick was still trying to get his head around the fact that Andrea had done some baking, apparently of her own free will as there was no one standing with her in the kitchen pointing a gun at her head. Now she was offering him a piece of pie and a cup of coffee? What was the catch? The pies smelled wonderful and he actually had meandered into the kitchen looking for something to snack on. He smiled and the way his eyes lit up made Andrea feel giddy. "I would love a piece of your pecan pie." he said.

Andrea wiped her hands off on a dish towel and pulled a plate out of the cupboard and grabbed a knife out of the butcher block. She sliced a nice large piece of pie for Rick and plopped it onto the plate. "Vanilla ice cream with that?" she asked.

Rick smiled. "I can get that," he said.

Andrea turned to the Keurig and in less than a minute had brewed a cup of coffee for Rick.

Rick had put vanilla ice cream into a mug and he grabbed a fork. He looked at the coffee Andrea held out to him and the plate he held in one hand and the mug of ice cream he held in the other. "I think I need another hand," he said.

"I'll bring the coffee. " Andrea offered. "Where to?"

"The deck. Care to join me?"

Andrea couldn't pass up the opportunity to get a first hand look at Rick's reaction to her newly acquired baking skills so she accepted his offer and followed him out to the table on the deck. She sat and watched as Rick leisurely took his time arranging his coffee and his pie and ice cream. Then he took a sip of coffee. Andrea wanted to scream, "Take a bite of the pie already, dammit!" but she stayed calm and collected on the outside and was rewarded for her patience when Rick took a large forkful of pie. Andrea watched with bated breath as it entered his mouth. He closed his eyes and exhaled a "Mmmmm." Was that good? Was it bad?

"Andrea," Rick said as he opened his eyes. "This is delicious. I didn't know you could bake."

Andrea smiled and clapped her hands like an excited little girl. "I didn't, either!" she laughed. She jumped up from her chair and headed towards the door.

Rick was confused. "Hey, aren't you going to sit out here and keep me company?"

"Sorry, but no, I've got to finish putting the dishes in the dishwasher," Andrea called over her shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure the pie didn't kill you or anything."

Rick looked at what was left of the piece of pecan pie on his plate and announced, "I think I'll need to snag another piece for the sake of checking quality control."

"Go ahead," Andrea laughed as she entered the house.

Rick shoved another mouthful of pie into his mouth and groaned with pleasure. He had no idea what had gotten into "I hate to cook and clean" Andrea, but whatever it was, he liked it.

* * *

Daryl yawned and sat up on the edge of his bed. He rubbed his eyes and then ran his fingers through his hair, skimming them over the ridges of sutures and the stubbly short hair around them. He then ran his fingers across his forehead and flinched. Damn that spot was tender. He took a deep breath and exhaled, then glanced over at the Jack Daniel's bottle still sitting on the bedside table. It was still about a third full.

Daryl found the t-shirt he'd had on earlier and pulled it on before he grabbed one of his Rugers and stuck it in behind him in the waistband of his jeans.

"Let me guess," Imaginary Merle piped up. "You made sure the safety 's on. Pussy. Guess I can unnerstan' why you stuck it above your ass crack an' not in a front. T'was nice to' see your 'rocket a' love' get some action even if it did blow up all over the launchpad." *

"Shuddup," Daryl muttered under his breath. It had been years since a woman had touched that part of him with less than pure intentions and so what if he'd reached the point of no return in no time flat. At least he wasn't impotent and it wasn't like he needed to impress Maggie. It wasn't like they were ever going to fuck.

Imaginary Merle laughed. "If farmer's daughter does end up lettin' you bang 'er, I hope she's a rodeo fan 'cause baby brother, all she's gonna get from you is an eight second ride."

"Still six seconds longer an' you'd last." Daryl mumbled and he grabbed the Jack Daniels bottle and stepped through his door onto the porch. He looked around to make sure he was alone and then settled himself onto the bench and leaned against the rough log wall behind him.

He took a moment to assess how he felt and decided that he actually felt pretty good. Maggie had done an amazing job of soothing his always tight and aching back, neck and shoulders. It had felt so odd to relax as her magic fingers had kneaded and pushed and rubbed his tired and tense muscles. He had relaxed alright. Her massage was so damned relaxing that he had fallen asleep.

What a crazy day this had been. He closed his eyes and replayed the events from earlier that day in his mind. Daryl decided that Maggie was right about one thing; now whenever he saw her he wouldn't be thinking about how she'd run damp cloths across his bloody body without his knowledge or consent. He'd be seeing her standing in the middle of his room without a stitch of clothing on with a big smile on her face. Damn, she confused the hell out of him.

* * *

He heard the kitchen door open and Andrea stepped out onto the back porch. Her eyes widened when she saw Daryl and she grinned and pointed at him. "You!" she said.

Daryl pointed to himself. "Me?"

Andrea nodded, still smiling. "Yes, you. Don't you go anywhere! I've got a surprise for you. Stay put, okay?" She ducked back inside before Daryl had a chance to say a thing.

Daryl groaned and seriously considered standing up and sprinting across the yard, out the gate and into the woods. He was still debating whether or not he should do it when the kitchen door opened out onto the porch and Andrea came out, holding the door open with her butt as her hands appeared to be full.

Andrea looked over at Daryl as he got to his feet. "No, no, sit down" she said with a smile.

Daryl sat and watched Andrea as she approached, doing all he could to keep himself still. He raised his eyebrows as he caught a whiff of what she carried and got a look at it. "Is that pie?" he asked. "Pecan pie?"

Andrea walked up to him and with her right hand offered him a cup of coffee and with her left hand a very large slice of warm pecan pie.

Daryl took a sip of the black coffee and set it on the bench next to him and inhaled the aroma of the pie as he held it beneath his nose. "Damn, Blondie, this smells fuckin' good."

Andrea sat down in the rocking chair next to the bench and said. "Just a continuation of my apology to you."

"For what?" Daryl snorted, "Hittin' me with the gun or not tellin' me I had a Sharpie mustache an' eyebrows?"

Andrea winced. "Sorry about that, but what was I supposed to say?"

"How 'bout, 'that's a nice Sharpie mustache an' set a eyebrows you got there'? That woulda worked for me." He stabbed at the pie with the fork and raised his eyes to meet Andrea's expectant ones. "If this pie kills me, jes' know I'm comin' back to haunt your ass." he said and he put a forkful of pie in his mouth.

Andrea fisted her hands and practically shook with anticipation. Daryl closed his eyes and slowly finished his bite of pie.

Andrea couldn't take it. "Well?" she asked impatiently.

Daryl met her eyes with his and put the plate of pie down next to his coffee. He then made a show of slouching back against the wall behind him and brought up his right arm, draping his forearm over his eyes.

Andrea's face fell. "Is it that bad? Daryl?"

Andrea saw the corners of Daryl's mouth turn up into a smile beneath where his forearm covered his eyes. "Shhhh…." he said quietly. "I think I jes' died an' went to heaven."

Andrea reached over and slapped his leg. "You ass," she laughed.

Daryl pulled his arm away from his eyes and straightened up, still smiling. He picked up the plate and shoveled another forkful of pie into his mouth. "I gotta say, Blondie," he said with his mouth full, "you make a mean pecan pie. Never would a thought it, the way you carry on 'bout not likin' to cook an' clean an' such."

"After what went on around here with those soldiers and all the shooting I was involved in, I had this overwhelming desire to do something mundane and ordinary. Something normal. You really like it?"

Daryl tossed down another mouthful of coffee "I fuckin' love it. 's real good. I thought you were gonna make a peach pie. I gotta admit, pecan pie's my favorite."

"Really? Well isn't that a coincidence!" Andrea said. She leaned forward in the rocking chair and sighed, "Ah, hell, I guess I shouldn't lie. Maggie told me it was your favorite. That's why I made it."

Daryl polished off the last bite of pie on his plate and looked up at her. "You made pecan pie special for me? Well, damn, Blondie, I don't know what to say."

"Just say you forgive me. That's all I want. Oh, and for you to stop calling me Blondie."

"I know you didn't mean to hit me, but it jes' seems shit like that happens a lot to me." Daryl finished his coffee and then asked her, "Would you rather I used my brother's nickname for you?"

"Don't you dare!"

"Then Blondie it is."

* * *

Rick stepped out onto the porch from the kitchen and Daryl froze. He hadn't spoken to Rick since he'd yelled at him the night before and he really wasn't in the mood for a follow up confrontation. Daryl shot to his feet, the motion causing the plate and the coffee cup on the bench to clatter against each other. "Thanks Blondie, gotta run." he said hastily under his breath and then he had disappeared back into his room and closed the door.

* * *

Rick walked over and stood next to Andrea. He gave her a bewildered look, shook his head and said, "I guess I haven't been forgiven yet." He looked down at the empty plate and coffee cup on the bench that Daryl had vacated in such a hurry and then looked back at Andrea. "Although it seems that you have."

Andrea smiled and gave Rick a playful punch on the shoulder. "Maybe you should make him a pie."

***I stole this from "That 70's Show".**


	67. Chapter 67

Andrea collected the empty plate and coffee cup from the bench and smiled at Rick. "I feel like Martha Stewart now," she said as she walked past him.

"Before or after she was in prison?" Rick called after her.

Rick stood in front of the exterior door to Daryl's room for a couple of minutes trying to decide whether or not to knock on the door. He had contemplated his actions and his words to Daryl the night before and he was was ashamed of himself when he realized what a jerk he'd been. Daryl had risked his life for all of them and he'd gone the extra mile for Rick. When Rick remembered how Daryl had pulled him out from the war room doorway when all hell broke loose and realized that Daryl had shoved him behind him and covered him with his own body he cringed. Daryl had also saved him from the walker that had been Shane. How had he repaid the man for habitually saving his ass and having his back? By bawling him out like he was an unruly and disobedient child and in front of the whole group no less. No wonder Daryl was avoiding him. Rick heard the sound of a guitar being played coming through the door of Daryl's room. He sighed and took a few steps over to the bench and sat down. Rick leaned his head against the log wall behind him and listened to the sounds of the muffled music as it escaped through Daryl's windows. Rick was surprised, Daryl played quite well. He smiled. Much better than he and Shane had played when they tried to get their own garage band together in high school.

Rick started thinking about Shane then and he was overwhelmed with sadness. He missed Shane. He missed him a lot. He reminded himself that Shane had changed and that the Shane that had met his end at Glenn's hand was not the Shane who had been his best friend for most of his life. He smiled a small smile as he wondered what Lori and the other members of the group would think if they knew that he was glad that Lori was carrying Shane's child. This baby would be a little piece of Shane for Rick to love and protect and he liked the way that made him feel. He sat and listened to Daryl play for a few minutes more and then stood up and went inside the kitchen door to go check on Lori and to see what Carl was up to.

* * *

Daryl strummed the six string for a while and then put it back in its case. He put it away in the closet and pulled the twelve string out. He didn't have much experience playing twelve string guitars and it took a couple of minutes for him to remember how to properly tune it. Once he was satisfied with the tuning, he did some random finger picking and strumming. He hummed a bit as he stumbled through a song he liked and then tried it again, working out the mistakes he'd made. He started to sing quietly and to himself.

"Where are we goin'...so far away.

Somebody told me that this is the place,

Where everythin's better an' everythin's safe.

Walk on the ocean...step on the stones..."

There was a knock on his door.

Daryl sighed. He wondered how childish the others would think he was if he posted a big sign on his door that said 'GO AWAY.' "Yeah?" he called towards the door.

"Its Maggie. I really need to talk to you."

Daryl rolled his eyes. Here we go. She was regretting what she'd done already. "C'm in."

Maggie entered Daryl's room and closed the door behind her. She approached Daryl and he noticed that she looked nervous. "We've got a problem," she said.

Daryl nodded. "I knew ya'd regret it. You want me to.."

Maggie smiled and interrupted him, "No no. No regrets. This is something else. After I left and went to my room, Carol apparently came in here and collected your dirty laundry."

"She _what_? I like ta do my own damned laundry. She knows that. When was this?"

"I guess a few minutes after I left. She found one of my earrings on the floor in your bathroom."

Daryl fidgeted and ran his fingers through his hair. "So? That ain't so bad. Yalu change my dressin'. You could a lost it then."

Maggie sat down on the bed next to Daryl. "She found something else, too. Your jeans and your boxers were in the bathroom and..."

Daryl exploded. "Fuckin' hell! I had stuff in the pockets! If they went through the wash, I'll be so..." He stopped suddenly and his eyes grew wide. "Shit no, oh, hell no. My boxers. We'd...I'd..." he gave his hips a little theatrical thrust forward.

"Exactly." Maggie said with a small smile she couldn't help. "She came to my room and told me that I should swallow next time because it gets rid of the evidence. She also said you'd appreciate it."

Daryl could feel his stomach knotting up and his anger bubbling up inside him. "She actually said that? Carol said that?"

Maggie nodded.

"Did you tell 'er she was wrong?"

"She wouldn't listen. Of course, it didn't help that I had my shirt on inside out."

Daryl sighed. "So what now? She gonna tell China? Tell the rest a the group she thinks we're fuck buddies?"

Maggie shrugged. "I'm not sure. I know I'm going to take a bath and get all prettied up for Glenn so when he gets home I can give him some loving and then tell him what really happened before Carol gets her claws on him."

"You're gonna tell him that you pranced around naked in front a me?"

"Sure. I'll tell him why, too, and I'll make sure he knows it was solely my idea. I'm not going to tell him that I touched your goodies, though."

Daryl snorted a laugh. "My 'goodies'? 's that what you women call 'em now? 'sides, I still had my pants on, so it don't really count anyway."

Maggie grinned at Daryl mischievously and said, "It counted all right."

Daryl raised his eyebrows at her. "You think?"

"I got you off, didn't I?"

Daryl blushed. "I'm pretty sure that wan't part a your plan."

"I didn't have a plan. I just wanted to fix things. Your friendship means a lot to me."

"You mean you ain' t always dancin' aroun' naked and givin' your friends hand jobs?"

Maggie smacked his shoulder. "You're such a jerk." She stood up to leave and Daryl grabbed her arm.

"Thanks for the back rub. Made a world a difference." He licked his lips, "An' I'm sorry I'm such a jackass a lot of the time."

Maggie looked into Daryl's eyes and then she was hugging him. He stiffened and held his arms at his sides, but he didn't pull away. "I'm so, so sorry I hurt you. I'm sorry I wasn't sure of my target." she whispered. She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze and then turned and left the room, wiping her eyes as she closed the door behind her.

* * *

Daryl didn't know what to think. He cared for Maggie, more than he wanted to and more than he should. She had a way of getting to him that no one else did and that bothered him. He had been disappointed and hurt when she had returned his hunting knife and that had surprised and worried him. He had built up a thick skin from years of being looked down on, judged and dismissed as being good for nothing, but although his skin was thick and he had developed an "I don't give a shit what you think about me' attitude, his outer armor still housed a sensitive heart. That part of him had always driven Merle nuts.

Merle thought Daryl was crazy for still mourning Lily after she'd been gone for a year. A year was more than plenty of time to get over a woman as far as Merle was concerned and yet his baby brother had no interest in screwing around with any of the local floozies that thought he would be a good lay. One day Merle had come home from work and grabbed Daryl off the couch by the scruff of his neck and yelled in his face with whiskey tainted breath, "We're goin' ta Rosie's Tavern tonight and you're leavin' wit' a woman, you got that? Fuckin' Lucy ast me if you're queer 'cause you don't seem to be interested in any a the women down ta Rosie's."

There was no way in hell that Daryl could explain to Merle that he still didn't want anyone but Lily and now she was gone so he would rather go without. It wasn't like he needed a woman, he had gotten used to his self imposed celibacy and if he got a bad case of SBU, he still had his hand. "Fuck that." Daryl had yelled back. "I ain't interested in some disease bearin' nasty ol' cum bucket an' I don't give a fuckin' shit what Lucy Loose-twat says 'bout me an' you shouldn't either. "

Merle had explained to Daryl in the most effective manner he knew that this was important and that he damned well was going to defend the Dixon honor whether he wanted to or not. Daryl had gotten in a few hits of his own, but Merle was bigger and stronger and when he was done letting Daryl know who was boss, he'd sent Daryl flying through the bathroom and crashing into the tub. "Take a shower an' try to look presentable!" Merle had shouted as he slammed the bathroom door.

Daryl had avoided any hook ups that night at Rosie's by getting shitfaced drunk and getting into a couple of fights. For once it was Merle that ended up having to drag Daryl's ass home instead of the other way around.

* * *

Against his better judgment, Daryl had embraced Maggie as a friend and she now held the power to cause some real damage to his psych and his heart if she chose to do so. He hoped she wouldn't. He was damaged enough already. He closed his eyes and there she was, smiling and dancing around buck naked in his mind. He knew where his disgusting mind would go with this image, so he banished naked, dancing Maggie by calling upon memories of his childhood and disappointments and hurts he'd collected over the years. It worked and he could think clearly again.

* * *

Daryl waited for about ten minutes before he peeked out of his exterior door. He was hungry but he didn't want to chance running into Rick or anyone else on his way through the house to the kitchen. The best option was to sneak out onto the porch from his room and into the kitchen from the porch. He could grab what he wanted to eat and then hightail it back to his room. No one appeared to be on the porch, so he stepped out onto it and immediately checked the back yard. No one was there, either. He quickly but quietly stalked to the kitchen window and peeked inside. The kitchen was empty. He entered the kitchen and threw one of the cupboards open, grabbing two cans of canned spaghetti. There were two foil wrapped pie plates on the counter and he quickly peeked under the foil on each one. Both plates held pecan pies, one a whole one and another a little less than half a pie. Daryl looked around and listened. Still no sign of anyone and he opened the silverware drawer and pulled out a soup spoon. He considered grabbing the whole pecan pie (after all, Andrea said she'd made it for him) but he didn't want Andrea to think he was more of a pig than she probably already thought he was, so he took the partially eaten pecan pie and grabbed a pint of ice cream out of the freezer. He made his departure out the kitchen door and entered the safety and sanctuary of his room with a sigh of relief.

"Tha fuck's wrong with ya? You tippytoe'n aroun' tryin' tostay outta Officer Asshole's way? You're jus' a lil' pussy wussy, Darleena. Sugar Tits made you a pie and you gotta sneak inta the kitchen a the house you fuckin' found to begin with? I think Ma musta jumped the fence 'cause ain't no Dixon be pussyfootin' aroun' like that."

* * *

Daryl had just put the pie and the ice cream on his nightstand and shoved the cans of pasta in the nightstand drawer when there was a knock on his bedroom door. He rolled his eyes. Couldn't people just leave him the hell alone? He decided not to answer the knock and sat back on his bed.

There was another knock and a voice came through the door. "Daryl?" It was Carol.

Daryl smiled and quietly reclined on the bed and closed his eyes. His ice cream would be melting, but so what? This was going to be interesting.

There was another knock and Carol's voice called his name again. He still didn't answer and sure enough, in a few seconds he heard his door hinges creak as his door was opened. He heard Carol's light footsteps as she crossed the floor and stopped next to his bed. She stood there for what seemed to be a long time and Daryl couldn't help himself. "See somethin' you like?" he asked without opening his eyes.

Carol jumped and a small squeal escaped her. "Daryl! You're awake!"

Daryl propped himself up on his right arm and raised his eyebrows. "I am. Whatcha doin' in here?"

Carol blushed and motioned her chin towards the pile of towels and clothes she held in her arms. "I washed your towels and some of your clothes earlier and I wanted to return them. I figured that you were sleeping so I was just going to drop them off for you."

Daryl sat up on the edge of the bed, "Damn, I don' remember takin' anythin' down to the laundry room that needed washin' an' I do my own laundry most a the time."

Carol smiled nervously.

Daryl continued, "An' I know you'd never come on in here an' walk off with my dirty laundry without me knowin' 'cause you know me well enough to know how I am 'bout people get tin' into' my stuff."

Carol frowned. "Daryl, I just... I wanted to..I wanted to do something nice for you. I took your towels and.."

Daryl looked at her expectantly. "An' what?"

"A pair of your jeans and um...boxers."

Daryl sighed. "I had stuff in them jeans. Private stuff."

"I..I took everything out of your pockets so nothing went through the wash." Carol was getting nervous now. She backed up a couple of steps and Daryl stood up and took a step toward her.

"Carol, I know you mean well but this shit has got to stop."

Carol put the laundry stacked in her arms on the chair by the closet and put her hands on her hips. She stuck her chin out defiantly and then pointed a finger at Daryl "No, Daryl. Whats got to stop is your little affair with Maggie Greene!"

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Carol and took another step toward her. "Ain't nothin' goin' on between me an' her. We're friends is all."

"When I told you I wanted us to be friends you told me you didn't do friendships well, yet you call Maggie your friend. Why? And do you screw around with all your 'friends'?"

"I ain't screwin' 'roun with nobody 'n you oughta be ashamed a yourself for suggestin' an' even thinkin' it." He moved a step closer to her.

"The evidence suggests otherwise." Carol stated, standing her ground.

"I call bullshit on that. Can't be no evidence a sumthin' that never happened."

Carol raised her eyebrows, "Something happened alright and you know it."

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Carol. "Fine, go 'head, humiliate me. I'm used to it. I was drinkin' an got to thinkin' 'bout an old girlfriend. I'm a man and I reacted and I.." his face reddened with embarrasment. "You happy now? You know, for someone who claimed to care 'bout me an' wanted to be friends you're doin' a great job a callin' me a liar an' a piece a shit. You want to start rumors? Get Glenn all riled up so he comes for me with a gun?"

Carol sighed. "I'm just worried about you and I think you're making a big mistake. I care about you a lot Daryl."

Daryl walked past Carol and opened the door. "Don't seem that way. You think I'm fuckin' scum. Biggest mistake I made was stayin' with this group. Luckily I can fix it soon enough. Thanks for doin' my laundry but for now on stay the hell outta my room an' don't touch my stuff. "

Carol glared at him and stepped out into the hall. "I'm keeping my eye on you, Daryl."

Daryl glared back at her, "Well ain't you a peach. Oh, an' next time I'm gonna jerk off I'll let you know in advance case you wanna stand at the door an' listen," he snarled and he slammed his door.

* * *

Enough was enough. In two weeks his open wound would be healed and hopefully his head would be as back to normal as it could be and he'd be out of there. There was too much fuckin' drama going on in the house. He felt bad for being mean to Carol. The poor woman had been through a lot, but dammit, she just pushed all the wrong buttons with him. She said she cared about him, but he knew better. She obviously hated him and rightfully blamed him for Sophia's terrible fate. Why else would she be trying to stir things up and doing things that she knew would upset him?

He grabbed the half melted ice cream and poured it into the pie plate on top of the pie and sat on the floor next to his bed with the plate. He sighed and leaned back against his bed. Andrea had baked this pie for him. That thought gave him a warm feeling inside and he savored each mouthful even more because of it.

* * *

9pm rolled around and Glenn and Dale hadn't returned from the Greene farm. Rick was pacing in the great room and Carl was keeping watch at the window in the dining room that looked out at the driveway. Maggie tried to lighten the mood by explaining that haying took a lot of work and time and that they probably had finished up late.

At 10pm Rick called the members of the household together in the great room. Daryl hadn't been asked to participate, primarily because Rick was unsure of how Daryl would react. Daryl had already let Rick and everyone else know that he didn't feel like he was part of the group and that he wasn't going to let Rick or anyone else order him around.

Andrea asked Rick to hold on for a moment and that she would be right back. She approached Daryl's room and was surprised to hear the sound of a guitar being played. Andrea knocked on the door and the guitar music abruptly stopped.

"What?" asked a gruff and rather cranky sounding voice from the confines of the room.

"Daryl? It's Andrea. Glenn and Dale aren't back yet from Hershel's and we're all worried. Rick's called a meeting and I think he's going to send a couple of us out to find out if they ran into any trouble. I just thought you might want to be in on it. I know you like Hershel." She finished speaking and wanted to kick herself. Would Daryl think she was implying that he didn't like Glenn and Dale?

Daryl's door opened and he stepped into the hallway. "I appreciate you lettin' me know." he said to her.

Daryl and Andrea entered the great room together and Andrea sat on a couch while Daryl chose to stand behind it.

Rick nodded at Daryl to acknowledge his presence and then addressed the group. "Dale and Glenn should have been back by now. I'm going to go and find out what's going on and I'd like one of you to come with me."

Lori looked around at the others then spoke. "No, Rick. Don't go. We need you here. Carl needs you here. I need you here. We almost lost you yesterday and now is not the time to be gallivanting off in the dark."

Rick glared at his wife and was about to say something when Carl piped up. "Please Dad, don't go. Just this one time. Please?"

"You should listen to your family," Carol said.

"I'll go." said Daryl, Andrea and Maggie in unison.

Rick looked over at Daryl and Daryl could have sworn that the man actually looked grateful.

"You sure you're feeling up for it, Daryl?" Rick asked.

"Wouldn't a offered to go if I didn't."

Maggie coughed a "bullshit" cough and Daryl glared at her.

Rick suppressed a smile.

"I want to go, too." Maggie announced.

"No, you stay here. I think it would be best if Andrea and Daryl went."

Maggie was going to complain, but a sharp look from Rick made her shut her mouth.

"Andrea, Daryl," Rick said, "grab a couple of rifles out of the war room and plenty of ammo, take them along with your sidearms. I'm going to give you a couple of the walkies. On your way back, call in once you get into range. Tomorrow we're going to get the damned HAM radio up and running here and we're going to set one up at Hershel's place." Rick looked at Daryl, "Are you sure you ..."

Daryl didn't wait for him to finish. "Yeah, I'm fuckin' sure," he snapped and pushed by Rick towards the stairs.

Andrea shrugged at Rick and Rick grabbed her arm and pulled her close. Daryl was already up the stairs on his way to the war room. "You drive," Rick said quietly to Andrea. "He's still suffering from a head injury and I don't want him driving, hell, he probably shouldn't be going at all." He paused then asked her, "Would you rather go with someone else?"

Andrea shook her head. "I'm sure we'll be fine together," she said and she gave Rick a little smile.

* * *

Ten minutes later the F150 drove up the driveway and stopped at the gate. Daryl jumped out and unlocked and opened the gate and then closed and locked it once Andrea had driven through. He slid into the passenger seat and slammed the door.

"Put your seat belt on." Andrea said with a smile.

"Hell no. I ain't wearin' no seat belt," Daryl grumbled. "An why the hell do you get to drive?"

"Because I called it first." Andrea said triumphantly. "So stop being a big baby about it."

Daryl slouched down in the seat and folded his arms. He sulked and looked out the passenger door window. "I ain't bein' a baby." he grumbled.

Andrea glanced over at him for a second and giggled. He did look like a pouting little boy in the shadows. "Just relax and enjoy the ride. Besides, I'm an excellent driver."

"Yeah, I'll bet you are." Daryl said to the window.

"Oh, I am. I love to drive. In fact, I can drive all night." She smiled wickedly to herself and continued, "Sometimes, you know Daryl, its good to let the woman drive and have control of the ride. It can actually make the ride more fun and interesting."

Daryl kept his eyes focused on the dark passing landscape. "You know I'd rather drive an' I'd hardly call this fun. If we crash though, I'm tellin' you now, I'll never let you hear the end a it."

"Oh yeah?" Andrea was having fun with this conversation and was Daryl really that clueless? "If we crash while I'm driving, Dixon, I can assure you it will be entirely your fault."

They turned off Forest Lake Road onto the highway.

"If you're drivin' an' we crash, how the hell will it be my fault?"

Andrea was going to say something about him bailing out of the car before she'd reached her destination but she figured that if he hadn't caught on to her sexual innuendos yet, it would just confuse him all the more. "Nevermind," she said.

They were both silent for a few moments as Daryl pondered whether or not to say what he was thinking and then he surprised Andrea almost as much as he surprised himself when he said, "Besides, Blondie, I wouldn't let you drive 'til I'd been on top at least a couple times first."

Andrea's eyes widened and she burst into laughter and smacked Daryl's leg.

They were both grinning, Daryl with a bit of embarrassment (had he really just said that? To _Andrea_?) as they drove on through the night toward the farm.

**Okay, no walkers or kills in this chapter. I'll make it up to you in the next one. Sorry for the late update but I've been really sick for the last several days. I actually spent Christmas in bed. Bleh. We're supposed to get up to 20" of snow tonight. Is there anyone out there who lives down south and would like to trade houses until May? Just thought I'd ask. I hope you all had a Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/Christmahanakwanzaka!**


	68. Chapter 68

They came to the spot where the huge roadblock with the logging truck had been and where Daryl had found his 'new' motorcycle. Daryl hadn't been through there since it had become passable and he was impressed with the work that Shane and Carl had done to clear the roadway.

He remembered how excited Carl had been when he had arrived at the house after clearing the logs and cutting up wood with Shane. Shane had shown Carl how to use a chain saw and Lori had been livid. That had turned out to be one hell of a crappy day, Daryl thought, for him and for Shane, too. Andrea slowed the truck and carefully made her way through the cars and stacked logs. She hit the accelerator when she'd cleared the narrow path and they sped down the highway.

"So what do you think? Should we think up some sort of plan?" Andrea asked.

Daryl had gone back to staring out the window. "Hard to come up with a plan when we don't know what kind a situation we're headin' inta."

Andrea frowned. "So, what, we just wing it?"

"I didn't say that. We jes' can't plan somethin' out without more information. Basics is easy. We find Glenn an' Dale an' if there's walkers, we get rid a them. If there's lots a them, we clear a path an' haul ass."

They reached the next roadblock and Andrea slowed as they drove through the dark and silent vehicle graveyard.

"There's your Escalade." Andrea said as they drove by the big black vehicle.

"How'd you know I checked that out?" Daryl asked.

"Because Glenn couldn't wait to check it out and he ended up having the same reaction you had once he opened the door." Andrea crinkled her nose at the memory of poor Glenn losing his lunch on the hot pavement that day.

"You know, I've slaughtered an' butchered an' gutted animals an' I've smelled some really nasty shit, but nothin' compares to a decomposin' liquified human in a hot car." Daryl heard a sound like gagging come from Andrea and he smiled. "So China liked that big ol' Caddy, too? Good for him. Man's got good taste."

Andrea smirked. "From what I've been told, you both have similar tastes in other areas as well."

Daryl had been wondering when Andrea would bring this subject up. After all, she and Carol were sharing a room and he wasn't dumb enough to think that Carol would keep her suspicions about him and Maggie to herself. He figured he'd play along, though. Hell, they still had a way to go before they got to the farm. "'S 'at so? I know we both like beef jerky an' Pink Floyd."

"You both like Maggie, too."

"Maggie's my friend. Nothin' more."

Andrea wasn't sure if she should poke the bear or not, but she decided she really wanted to see what else Daryl would share about his relationship with Glenn's girlfriend. "I heard that there was much more to it than that."

Daryl sighed. "Okay, I'll bite, what'd you hear? An' I already know damned well who you heard it from."

"I'm sure you do. I heard that Maggie was going down on you, but she doesn't like to swallow and then you both got naked and you were banging her on the floor in your bathroom."

Daryl was stunned and a little ashamed when a quick 'don't I wish' brainfart blew through . "Really. Did Miss Marple happen to tell you how she came to this startling an' scandalous conclusion?"

Andrea grinned. "Honestly? You want me to tell you?"

"Sure, why not. I ain't had my fill a humiliation an' embarrassment yet today, so bring it on."

Andrea suddenly felt bad for even bringing the subject up. After all, she knew better. She knew that Daryl was a private person and here she was, hauling out something that was sure to embarrass him. "Forget it," she said. "Forget that I even brought it up."

"'S too late for that. C'mon, you brought it up, lets drag it out inta the open."

"Carol said she found one of Maggie's earrings on the floor of your bathroom and that she found some fresh uh...ummm..."

"She told you that? Wow, does ever'one know? S'pose I oughta call a meetin' jes' in case she left someone out? 'Hey, y'all. Thought I'd let you know that occasionally I get to thinkin' 'bout my ol' girlfriend an', well, I'm a man an' shit happens an' sometimes it happens when I'm wearin' pants.' Fuckin' hell, that woman pisses me off." He took a deep breath to calm himself down. "For the record, Maggie's never gone down on me, I ain't never gone down on her an' we ain't never fucked. Like I said before, we're friends is all." He blushed. Why the hell was he sharing this information with Andrea?

"I honestly didn't think you were the kind of man to move in on another man's girlfriend. Personally, I think Carol is really jealous of your relationship with Maggie and this is her way of lashing out."

"Jealous?" Daryl pffft'd Andrea. "Carol ain't jealous, she hates me. Let me tell you somethin' bout how well Carol likes me. After Sophia came outta the barn, I sat with Carol in the RV so she wouldn't be alone. She wouldn't even look at me. Remember how she wouldn't come out for the gatherin' at the graves? She asked why she should an' I said 'cause its your lil' girl' an' she said nu-uh, twas jes' a 'thing'. She said Sophia hadn't tried to find her way back, she hadn't been cold or hungry or scared. She said Sophia'd been dead for a long time. I knew she blamed me. I'd 'jes told her again 'bout half a hour before Shane opened up the barn that I was gonna find Sophia an I thought she was still out in the woods somewhere. Dragged Carol out by the pond an' showed her a bunch a them damned Cherokee roses. A course she hates me. Can't rightly blame 'er."

"I think you're mistaken. I think Carol is extremely fond of you and she's frustrated that you won't let her get close to you Or reciprocate her feelings."

"Bullshit. You didn't listen to a word I jes' said."

"Yes, I did and you're wrong. Carol doesn't blame Sophia's death on you at all. She blames Rick. Personally, I don't think it was anyone's fault but I know you looked harder than anyone for Sophia and correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't recall Carol once going out and looking for her own daughter after the first day. I am curious about your friendship with Maggie, though. The whole time you were back at Greene's farm, I hardly recall you saying two words to her. How did you two end up becoming so close?"

Daryl laughed. "I feel like I'm bein' interrogated, but you're a lawyer so I guess I shouldn't be surprised. Maggie saved my life. First night she stayed over at the house. If it'd been anyone else, they wouldn't a known what to do." He smiled a small smile. "'Cept Hershel, an' he' wouldn't a moved fast enough."

"What happened?" Andrea was completely surprised by what Daryl was telling her.

"Ain't important." Daryl mumbled.

Andrea snorted, "Like hell it isn't. You're the most valuable person in the group. If you die we're all in trouble."

It was Daryl's turn to snort, "Bullshitometer is in the red zone, Blondie." .

Andrea sighed. "You just don't get it, do you? I don't know what the hell kind of upbringing you had or what happened in your life to make you feel so damned...worthless, but..."

"My life an' my 'upbringin'' ain't no one's business but mine!" Daryl snapped.

"Okay, you're right. Its nobody's business but yours. What I'm trying to say, though, is that the group couldn't survive without you. You're the only one that can hunt and track and tell us if a storm is coming and what berries and mushrooms are edible and you're brave and strong and you take care of us all."

"Yeah, I'm jes' a fuckin' redneck superman. Bullshit. Group'd get along fine without me." Daryl retorted.

"No, we wouldn't. And I like you. When Glenn told me that you'd been killed by the invaders, I cried. I _cried_ for you, Daryl. When Shane almost killed you I was worried out of my mind. You_ are_ important, whether you think so or not. You have no idea how much you mean to us."

Daryl was silent. This conversation was making him extremely uncomfortable and didn't he just have a dream where his importance to the whole group was lauded right before he was stabbed in the heart? If Andrea did go bonkers and attack him, he could probably jump out of the truck before she got a jab in.

Andrea was quiet for a few minutes as they drove and Daryl started to relax. Then, much to his chagrin, she started talking again. "So Maggie saved your life. No wonder she is so overprotective of you. She was a complete mess after she cut you. It makes more sense now. Why don't you tell me what happened?"

Daryl rolled his eyes, but of course, Andrea couldn't see him do that. He looked out the window again. "Are we almost there yet?"

"Please?"

"Will you stop with the questions if I tell you?"

"Yes," Andrea agreed. "I promise that I won't ask you another thing for the rest of the way."

Daryl sighed. "Everyone don't know ' bout this an' I'd like to keep it that way. After Hershel fixed me up the first time, Shane switched the Tylenol I was takin' with Morphine an' I was poppin' 'em like candy. I OD'd the night Maggie stayed over. Stopped breathin'. Maggie had to work to get me breathin' again an' she shot me up with Naloxone. I scared the hell out a her. She yelled at me an' cried an' I felt like the world's biggest turd."

Andrea was quiet. She'd had no idea. Now things made more sense. Maggie was the one that took care of Daryl's injuries and managed his pain. Of course Maggie was protective of Daryl and of course he was attached to her. She had shown him that his life was important to her, she cared about him and she felt a sort of responsibility to keep him safe. Andrea peeked over at Daryl out of the corner of her eye as she drove. She saw him bring his hand up and rub the sides of his forehead. He brought his hand down and leaned his head on the seat's head-rest and closed his eyes. "Are you okay?" she asked.

"Helluva headache jes' kicked in." Daryl explained.

"Have you got anything with you to take for it?" Andrea asked.

"Didn't think to bring nothin'. It'll be fine," Daryl said quietly. It was one hell of a headache and it had hit him like a sledgehammer. It was right at the front of his head, right behind where Andrea had bopped him with the Shrike and if felt like his skull was splitting open. He kept his eyes closed and started to concentrate on his breathing. He hoped the damned thing would go away or at least decrease in intensity before they reached the farm.

Andrea was quiet as she drove. She would glance over at Daryl every so often. He still sat with his eyes closed, leaning his head back against the head-rest. At one point she thought he had fallen asleep but then he opened his eyes and turned toward the window. She was going to ask him where it hurt, but she was pretty sure she knew and she was also quite sure that if she hadn't clobbered him with the butt of her gun the day before, he wouldn't be suffering through this headache right now.

"Well looky here. Officer Asshole's bitch is out on a run for 'im with Sugar Tits. My baby brother got hisself a lil' achy head? Ain't that right where sugar tits hit you? You told ol' Officer A that you wan't nobody's bitch an' lookit you now. He's prolly laughin' his ass off. Did he kiss you or buy you dinner afore ya grabbed your ankles for 'im this time, huh, baby brother?""

Daryl groaned. Imaginary Merle was the last thing he wanted to deal with right now.

"Are you okay?" Andrea asked.

"I'm fine." Daryl mumbled.

Andrea made the turn off the highway onto Fairburn Road. The long driveway to the Greene's farmhouse lay two miles down this road. Andrea slammed on the brakes and Daryl slid forward, planting his hands firmly on the dash before his head could hit the windshield. He saw the walkers in the road ahead before he could open his mouth to yell at Andrea.

"Shit, look at all of 'em." Daryl griped as he turned and got up onto his knees and pulled a Shrike and a few clips from behind the seat.

The walkers heard the truck and the light from the headlights caught their attention.

"I'm gonna get into the truck bed and shoot the fuckers that are in the way. You' drive through 'em an let me handle 'em," Daryl said and before Andrea could say a word, he'd leaped out of the passenger door. He jumped up into the back of the truck and planted his feet, bracing his arm holding the Shrike against the top of the truck cab. He banged on the cab roof with his other hand, "Let's go, Blondie."

Andrea drove forward, careful not to lurch ahead so she wouldn't drop Daryl on his ass in the truck bed.

There were a lot of walkers in the roadway, and as the Shrike started booming above her, Andrea saw the walkers up in front of the truck falling into the road. She made a face and drove over them, the truck lurching and bumping as it went. "Put 'er in four wheel drive." she heard Daryl shout above her. She shifted into 4H and the truck clunked and bucked as she drove over more fallen walkers.

The road was clear after another quarter-mile and Andrea slowed and rolled down her window. "You want to get back in here?" she hollered to Daryl.

"Nah, I'm sure we're gonna be runnin' inta more of 'em. Jes' drive!" Daryl hollered back.

Andrea had gone another mile when the headlights showed a crowd of walkers up ahead stumbling around on the roadway.

Daryl started shooting to clear the way but there were more walkers this time and they crowded around the slow-moving truck as fast as he could shoot them. "Speed up an' drive over 'em!" he yelled as he shot two that were trying to smash their way through the driver's side window to get to Andrea. Several of them snarled and moaned as they reached for him over the sides of the truck bed and he unholstered one of the Blackhawks and shot a female walker that had grabbed his leg in her forehead. Others were grabbing for him with boney, dead fingers and he dispatched them as well. "Reverse!"he shouted, "Throw 'er in reverse!"

Andrea threw the truck in reverse and gunned the engine. The truck flew backward and she screamed as Daryl was thrown from the back of the truck and flew into the crowd of walkers. She slammed on the brakes and she heard Daryl yelling and cussing at the top of his lungs.

"No!" she shrieked and she grabbed the other Shrike behind her seat. The unmistakable roar of Daryl's Blackhawks filled the night once, twice, three times and then a shout pierced the air before the Blackhawks roared once more. The walkers started moving away from the truck and towards where the shots and the yelling had been coming from. Andrea stepped out of the truck and opened up on the herd with her Shrike, aiming it at head level and mowing down dozens of walkers. She sprayed the herd with gunfire and reloaded and repeated the action. She moved and reacted like a well oiled machine. Fire, discharge empty clip, load new clip, fire. She needed to take these things down. She wasn't going to think about what had happened moments before. Not yet. She reloaded and fired again. Andrea jumped when a Shrike bellowed from the other side of the truck and several approaching walkers up ahead of the truck fell as their heads exploded in a hail of bullets. Daryl stood next to the passenger door, the automatic rifle rammed against his shoulder, firing at the herd. His chest heaved as he fired and Andrea noticed he was literally covered with blood. His clothes were soaked and his face and hands were a muddy reddish brown. His hair was greasy with blood.

"What the hell happened?!" Andrea shouted over the gunfire.

Daryl stopped firing, "Get in the truck!" he yelled as he yanked the passenger door open and jumped inside with the Shrike clutched in his arms.

Andrea followed suit and jumped in the truck and slammed the door. She was immediately assualted by an ungodly stench. "Oh Lord, Daryl, you've been rolling around in walker guts, haven't you?" she complained and then she gagged.

"Jes' tryin' to stay alive." Daryl gasped as he worked to get his breathing under control. "Cut a couple of 'em open on top a me."

Andrea made a face and gagged again.

Daryl smirked. "An try not to puke in here if you can help it."

"Why not? It will certainly make things smell better in here if I do." Andrea replied. She hit the gas and drove over the walkers in the truck's way. Soon they were moving quickly along the dirt road. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know you'd get thrown from the back."

"My fault, I tol' ya to back up, I jes' wan't ready for it."

"Are you okay? Did you get bitten?"

"What the fuck kinda question 's 'at? You know damned well an' good that if I got bit I wouldn't come back. Situation like this, I'd lead 'em as far from you as I could 'n blow my brains out." Daryl was almost insulted that Andrea would think otherwise.

"You're right, I know you wouldn't come back bitten. Sorry. How's your headache?"

"I've got it pushed down."

Andrea had no idea what that meant, but she nodded.

The truck's headlights reflected off a vehicle ahead on the side of the road. As they got closer they could see it was an RV that had crashed and was on its side. Dale's RV. A group of about twenty walkers was banging on it, trying to get inside. One had managed to squeeze halfway through a broken window.

They were still about a hundred feet from the disabled vehicle when Daryl put up his hand and spoke. "Stop here." He reloaded his Blackhawks inwardly wincing at the hell of a job of cleaning them and their holster belt he was going to face later. "I'm gonna get out here an' walk down to see what's up. If Dale an' Glenn was plannin' on bringin' that beast a Dale's back to the house, they might still be in there."

Andrea looked worried. She looked at the overturned RV and then looked at Daryl. She gagged again as his odor overtook her. "Just what am I supposed to do?" she asked when she was done gagging. "Sit here and look pretty?"

Daryl smiled a big smile and Andrea marveled at how handsome Daryl Dixon was when he smiled, in spite of his face and the rest of him being covered with walker blood and guts And the knot oft stitches in his forehead.

"Yeah, Blondie, you can do that real well, too. Jes' sit here an' look pretty." He quietly opened the truck's door after checking his revolvers and his Bowie knife and slid out of the truck and closed the door. He jokingly blew her a kiss before he quickly made his way down into the ditch on the side of the road.

**I'm going to try to put up another chapter later today. Sorry about the wait for this one.**

**Thank you, Bear, for your c.c. It is appreciated and you're right! It really doesn't make a difference. I guess I thought 'tha' looked more rednecky(today's new non-existant secret word, everybody scream real loud!) than 'the'. I'll be sticking to 'the' for now on. Thank you for your reviews, I appreciate the time you take to write them.**


	69. Chapter 69

**This chapter ended up being longer than I planned so it didn't get posted yesterday. I just barely finished the silly thing. It's 1:13 a.m. and I'll post it now.**

Andrea watched Daryl as he disappeared into the ditch. She moved her eyes to the RV that lay on it's side and the walkers gathered around it. After about five minutes she saw Daryl as he slowly and stealthiy moved along the side of the camper. He slipped his Bowie knife out of its sheath and sidled up to a walker that was vying for a shot at getting into the RV with the walker trying to work his way in through the broken window. Daryl drove the knife through the back of the walker's head and then pulled at the walker that was now stuck halfway inside the window. It snarled and snapped and tried to push itself further inside the Winnebago and Daryl wasn't going to chance cutting his arm on the sharp edges of the window's broken glass by reaching inside it to drag the walker out. He used his knife to put down two more walkers and Andrea watched from the truck with disgust as Daryl sliced one of the downed walkers across the belly, pulled out a handful of rotting entrails and smeared them across his chest, neck and shoulders.

"You are so riding home in the truck bed." Andrea mumbled.

Daryl re-sheathed his knife and grabbed Window Walker around the knees and pulled as hard as he could to try to extract the thing from the window. The thing moved a bit from where it was wedged and Daryl repositioned himself and got a better grip on the walker. He threw all his weight behind him and gave one mighty yank. He flew backward, his arms still wrapped around the walker's knees as it tore in two with a sickening wet tearing noise. Daryl landed hard on his back, knocking the breath out of him as more putrid gore soaked into his shirt and ran across his body in small streams. He gagged and threw the still moving partial body aside. He jumped to his feet in time to see the other half of the walker fall down into the RV. "Shit!" he shouted, attracting the attention of the walkers around him who, up until this outburst, hadn't been the least bit interested in him.

There was a shout from inside the RV and the walkers turned as one away from Daryl and towards the RV. Daryl pulled his knife again and ran towards the camper. He used a walker bending over next to the vehicle as a stepping stone, leaping up and planting a foot firmly on it's back and launching himself up onto what was now the top of the RV.

The walkers growled and moaned and snapped with renewed enthusiasm as Daryl strutted across the RV. "Ya in there, Dale?" Daryl hollered.

"Is that Daryl?" He heard Dale's voice yell.

"Yeah! You got Glenn in there with you?"

"Thank God!" Dale sounded incredibly relieved. "The farm was overrun. I've got Hershel and Beth in here. Glenn was coming with the Hyundai."

"Is everyone in there okay?" Daryl asked as he pulled a rag out of his back pocket and tried to wipe some of the slimy walker goo from his hands.

"Beth was hurt when we crashed, Hershel is pretty sure she broke her arm. We just had half a walker come in and took care of it, but we're okay. Just a matter of time though before they break through. Who is with you?"

"Sorry 'bout that half a walker. My fault. Me an' Andrea 're here. I'm gonna clear the walkers an' then I'll open the door up and we'll get y'all outta here." The walkers were banging on and rocking the camper and Daryl's foot slipped on the metal siding he was standing on and he almost fell. "Son of a bitch," he mumbled as he drew both of his revolvers. He looked out into the darkness as well as he could. The night was cloudy and he knew that a storm would be upon them in another couple of hours. He saw a few walkers coming towards the overturned RV from the direction of Hershel's farm and he guessed the number of walkers around the vehicle, surrounding it two and three deep now to be about forty. The number of the damned things had doubled. Daryl went to work, shooting both guns simultaneously and quickly reloading. It was easy to make the necessary head-shots from where he stood, but he knew he'd have to work fast before more walkers arrived. He had another ten to kill when he whistled between his teeth and waved at where Andrea sat in the parked F150. He waved and motioned for her to bring the truck over, then he fired the Blackhawks, taking down the last of the walkers crowded against the RV. He pulled the door open with some difficulty and ended up tearing it from it's hinges. Oh well. It wasn't like Dale would want it repaired.

* * *

Hershel was the first person Daryl hauled up though the now open door. He had a cut on his cheek that was bleeding and his face was bruised. His hair stuck out in all directions and Daryl thought the man looked older and much more fragile than he ever had. Hershel struggled to get to his feet with Daryl's help and then fanned his hand in front of his nose. "Heavens, son, you stink!"

Daryl couldn't help but smile.

Andrea parked the truck on top of several walkers and climbed up to help Daryl extract the others from the RV. "I got 'em," Daryl said, "jes' get 'em in the truck an' keep an eye out for walkers closin' in."

Andrea took Hershel's hand and lead him to the edge of the RV, she had the truck door open and Hershel was able to step down and get into the truck, sliding across the seat to sit against the passenger window.

"It stinks in here!" Hershel exclaimed. He looked out the window warily for walkers and then quickly pulled the little green pine-tree air freshener from where it dangled from the rear view mirror and held it directly below his nostrils.

Daryl gently lifted Beth out next, reaching into the door opening and carefully putting his hands around her waist and pulling her through the opening slowly. She was crying softly and Daryl felt bad for the girl. It was obvious that she was frightened as well as injured. "We're gonna get you outta here and you're gonna be fine." he told her and he was pleased when she looked at him and smiled a small smile and nodded. "Oh, an' sorry 'bout the smell." he added as he set her on her feet in front of Andrea.

Andrea eased Beth down into the truck and Beth's father pulled her to his side, careful to avoid hurting her right arm.

Andrea jumped up and fired three rounds from her Lady Smith at walkers approaching them.

Daryl's head snapped over to assess the threat posed by the new walkers. It appeared that Andrea had it under control so he reached into the RV and helped to haul Dale up beside him. Dale crinkled his nose. "Yeah, yeah, I know," Daryl said before Dale could say anything. "I stink."

Hershel had helped Beth to slide over onto his lap so Dale could slide into the truck next to him. Andrea turned to Daryl. As smelly as he was, she had changed her mind about him riding in the truck bed. "You can't sit in the truck bed!" she exclaimed, "It isn't safe and.."

"I ain't goin' with you. Jes' get 'em all back to the house. I'm goin' to find Glenn and I'll catch up." Daryl told her, "Now hand me a Shrike an' a few clips an' get the hell outta here!"

Andrea shot two more walkers closing in on them. "Are you crazy? I'm not leaving you here!" she shouted, her eyes wide.

Daryl reached around Andrea and grabbed the Shrike that Dale was holding out to him and yelled at Andrea. "You are, too! The Hyundai's down the road a bit, I need to get Glenn an' we'll be along!" He reached around her again and grabbed the stack of clips Dale held out to him.

"Good luck, son." Dale said to him and he nodded at Dale. He'd need it.

"Daryl! I won't let you.." Andrea was in mid-yell when Daryl shoved her into her seat as gently as he could possibly shove someone and slammed the door.

"Get the hell out a here, Blondie, an' save a piece a pie for me." he ordered and he slung the Shrike over his shoulder and jumped down from the RV.

Andrea opened the truck door to call after him and he was gone. She banged her fists on the steering wheel. "Dammit!" She put the truck in reverse and backed up and then turned it around. "Dale. I want you to drive back to the house. I'm going to go after Daryl." She moved to open the truck door and Dale grabbed her arm.

"Andrea! I can't let you do that. Now you heard what Daryl said. We need to get back to the house and that includes you, too."

Andrea tried to pull her arm away but Dale hung on. "Dale," she said angrily, "you let go of my arm right this instant. I'm not going to let Daryl run off and get himself killed, I need to go after him."

"I'm sorry Andrea, but there is no way I'm going to let you go and subject myself to the wrath of Daryl Dixon."

Hershel looked at Andrea with that wise old owl look he had and said, "I've been blessed with being on the receiving end of that wrath a couple of times myself and I'd rather not subject myself to another dose of it, either."

Andrea looked at Hershel and damned if he didn't make her feel like a small, disobedient child. She stuck out her lower lip to complete the transformation. "Okay," she sighed. "But if he doesn't come back in a couple of hours after we get there, I'm going to be furious with you two and I'll be coming right back here."

Dale nodded. "Fair enough."

Hershel agreed.

Dale reached over and took the tree shaped air freshener from Hershel, put it up to his nose and inhaled deeply, then handed it back to Hershel.

Andrea saw this and managed a small smile. "Pussies." she muttered to herself as she reluctantly drove down Fairburn Road towards the highway.

* * *

Daryl draped the intestines of the walker he had just stabbed around his neck. He smirked. This intestine necklace was much more impressive than the ear necklace he'd made. 'Daryl Dixon, jewelry designer of the stars.' popped into his head. He sliced the walkers heart down the center and cut a slice.. The atrium and the ventricle openings were perfect. He slid the slice onto his right wrist. 'Ah, and what a fine bracelet, you surely will be the envy of your walker slaying friends with one of these adorning your wrist!'

"See?" crowed Imaginary Merle. "That damned headache a yours has gotcha brewin' up a whole slew a brain farts. Now normal people don' 'ave stupid thoughts like that. The fucks wrong with ya, baby bro?"

"Accordin' to you, my dear big brother, I was jes' born weird." Daryl said under his breath. He pulled his knife from it's sheath and jogged up the road towards the Greene's farm. The intensity of his headache had increased enough so that he was having a hard time pushing it down. Maybe Merle was right and the brain farts popped up to distract him from how much his damned head hurt. He came within ten feet of a small group of walkers that stopped for a moment to watch him pass, but they didn't come after him or appear to be interested in him at all.

He slowed his pace as the number of walkers increased. He was walking by a pair of them, two very large men both wearing bib overalls and flannel shirts and they both turned towards him and snarled. He walked a little faster and they started after him, growling and reaching for him with their large, rotting arms. Why were they coming after him now? He still wore his intestine necklace and his heart bracelet and he was still wet with walker blood, guts and his own sweat. He turned to face the walkers as he jogged backward. He wanted to get behind one of them somehow and go for the kill from the back of it's head. These guys were big and looked like they still were pretty strong. If he approached from the front and got caught in those arms, one of the walkers could bite him while he fought off the other one. An idea crossed his mind and he smiled. He slid the Shrike off his shoulder and ran towards the walker on his left. His right arm was stronger than his left and his left forearm had stitches in it, so it was best to use his right arm for what he had in mind.

The walker started walking even faster toward him and Daryl lowered the barrel of the Shrike as he ran so it almost touched the ground. When he was next to the walker it turned toward him and Daryl swung the barrel of the Shrike down near it's feet and swept it across the back of it's shins. The walker's legs went out from under it and it fell on it's ass. Daryl swooped down in one fluid and almost graceful motion and drove his Bowie knife into the walker's skull and slid it out as he jumped away from the thing. He was feeling confident so he turned to the other large walker that was now closing in on him.

The walker was closer than he thought and it grabbed for his arm as he sprang away from it, snagging the Shrike's shoulder strap and jerking Daryl backward and off his feet. Daryl landed hard flat on his back and his head bounced off the roadway. He saw stars and heard a snarl from what sounded like a long way off. He fought the darkness threatening to pull him under and felt the weight of the Bowie knife he still gripped in his left hand. He blindly jabbed it upward and tried to roll to his right at the same time. The knife buried itself into something soft and he let go of it and rolled over twice, trying to get away from the walker that was intent on eating him. He pushed himself up and tried to get to his feet. The large walker scrambled toward him with Daryl's Bowie knife sticking out of it's neck. Daryl shook his head to try to clear it, but it only served to make him dizzier. He straightened up and the walker lunged for him. Daryl shuffled to the left and reached out and pulled his knife from the walker's neck as it turned and reached for him again. He stepped back but it grabbed his shirt and jerked him towards its gaping mouth. Daryl drove the Bowie knife into it's left eye with all his strength, which was pathetically lacking at the moment and the walker gave one final snarl before it fell, pulling Daryl down with it.

* * *

Daryl pulled his knife from where it was buried to the hilt in the walker's eye and pulled himself away from it. He collapsed onto his back and lay there, gasping and panting and trying to catch his breath and clear his head. That had been close. Way too close. That had been as close as the two walkers in the ravine had been when he'd had to pull an arrow from his side to kill one of them. He stayed there for a few more minutes, then sat up. Sweat. He'd been jogging and sweating before he had come upon the two Mungus brothers, Hugh and his other brother Hugh. The walkers must have been able to tell he was human because he'd been sweating. Maybe the salt in the sweat broke down the fluids from the walkers enabling them to detect him.

"Or maybe ya got some really nasty B.O. that'd make a nose-less man a mile away puke. You ever smell yourself after you'd gone without a shower for a week or two? I have an' it ain't pleasant. I'm bettin' skunks 'd even be holdin' their lil' noses an' headin' for the hills."

Daryl used his knife to extract some new bodily fluids and intestines from the large walker next to him and then slowly got to his feet. He checked his guns and made sure the were okay and loaded and then started down the road again in the dark.

* * *

He'd been walking for almost twenty minutes when it started to sprinkle. The light rain ran down his face and his arms and the wind started to pick up. Great. Now the walker blood and fluids would be diluted, if not washed completely off him and the wind would carry his scent to the walkers quicker and probably to more of them, too. He came across walkers traveling in pairs and small groups and was able to take them down or get around them without much trouble.

After another ten minutes of walking, he saw the ugly little Hyundai that used to be Shane's up ahead in the road. There were a few walkers milling around it and he picked up his pace as he approached it. The walkers didn't appear to be interested in getting into the car and Daryl couldn't see any damage on the vehicle. He stopped about twenty five feet from the car and listened. He could hear several walkers over by the tree-line at the other side of the field to the right of the roadway. He studied what he could see of the field and the roadway and then it clicked with the maps in his head. This was one of Hershel's fields and there was a small orchard of old peach trees at the edge of the field right before it gave way to forest.

Daryl slipped under the fence and slowly made his way across the field. The sprinkling turned to light rain and as Daryl got closer to the peach orchard the growls, grunts, moans and snarls from the walkers became louder and more numerous. The rain pattered against the grass and Daryl noticed the stark contrast between the soft sound of the rain and the abrasive and offensive noises the walkers were making. Something sure had them all riled up. He saw the peach trees up ahead and he could see a large group of walkers standing around one of the trees. They were all looking up into the branches and the ones closest to the trunk were reaching up and clawing at the bark. Daryl squinted and looked up into the tree's branches. There was someone in the tree. Daryl stopped walking and assessed the trees around him. The walkers were so interested in whatever was in the tree they surrounded that the hadn't noticed him. He hauled himself up into one of the bigger and sturdier trees and was thankful that Hershel hadn't pruned the trees to keep them shorter and wider. He climbed as high as he dared to at the risk of his weight breaking the branch and looked over to the tree the walkers surrounded.

* * *

"I am so screwed," a voice from up in the tree said. The walkers below the tree moaned and groaned as if in agreement.

"You picked a helluva time to be working on your tree climbin' skills." Daryl called out.

Some of the walkers below the other tree turned towards the tree Daryl occupied.

"Daryl?"

"Hey, China. What's up?"

"Are you really there or am I hallucinating this?"

"Now that's a good question. I mean, really, what would I be doin' up in a fuckin' peach tree in the middle a the night in the rain? Must be your 'magination."

Some of the walkers stumbled the fifty feet over to the tree Daryl was in and milled around beneath it, moaning and groaning and reaching.

Neither man said anything for what seemed like a long time. Then Glenn said, "You know, I can't believe you're actually messing with me in this situation. You really are a crazy bastard, you know that?"

"Course I know that. Would anyone sane be sittin' in a peach tree in the rain in the middle a the night with a shitload a walkers millin' around waitin' for their dinner to fall asleep an' fall outta it? Now le's get serious. Are you hurt?"

"No. Shit, Daryl, I can't believe you came for me. I owe you so bad if we get out of this alive."

"You can make me cookies later. Do you have a weapon on you?"

"My machete. I left my gun in the glove compartment in the car."

"Well, ain't that a good place for it. See how helpful that gun is to you there? Now as much as I'd love to sit up here and lecture you all night, we got people at home waitin' for us and I got a piece of pecan pie with my name on it that I'm anxious to plow inta. I'm armed to the teeth. I got a Shrike an' several clips an' I got my 'hawks an' a knife. You listenin'?"

"I'm listening. Damn, Daryl, you have no idea how happy I am that you're here. I've been in this tree for hours."

Daryl wanted to tell Glenn that if he didn't shut up and listen, they'd both be sitting in trees for a few more hours, but the kid sounded so damned grateful that he didn't have the heart to be more of an asshole to him than he already was.

"Is the car workin'?" Daryl asked.

"Yes. It's just that I...I had to...I had to take a leak and then there was a whole crap-load of walkers between me and the car.."

"You know where the keys are?"

"In the ignition."

"You sure 'bout that?"

Glenn swallowed and thought for a second. "Yes. Positive."

"Was the car runnin' when you left it or had you shut it off?" There'd be no sense I running to the car if it was out of gas.

"I'd shut it off." Glenn replied.

Daryl licked his lips. This was going to be interesting. "Here's the plan. I'm gonna mow down those bastards under your tree, but don't you dare get down 'til I yell to you sayin' its okay. Otherwise I might end up shootin' you an' then your woman would kill me an' I ain't' quite ready to die. When I tell you to move, you get outta that tree and I'll be takin' down the walkers below me. You head for my tree, I'll meet you next to the trunk and give you one a my guns. You lose it or damage it, I'll have your hide. There's six shots, if you need to use it, make em' count. Once you have that gun in your hands, you move your ass as fast as you can for the car. I'll be right behind you. If somethin' happens to me, you don't go playin' hero. You get your ass to the house. Now I'm gonna start shootin' in about thirty seconds. Any questions?"

"I would never leave you behind," Glenn said.

"You damned well better if it comes down to it." Daryl said sharply. "I'm a helluva lot better at climbin' trees an' I got the big gun, now you do as I say, is that clear?"

Glenn took a deep breath. "Yes."

"Okay, thirty seconds. Be ready."

Glenn counted to thirty.

The Shrike spit fire and bullets and the walkers below the peach tree Glenn sat in fell in droves. Daryl was able to mow down the walkers right at head level from his perch in the tree and he didn't end up using as much ammo as he thought he'd have to. "Okay, go!" he shouted as he turned the gun on the eight walkers at the base of the tree he sat in. One good burst from the Shrike took down all the walkers below his tree and he jumped to the ground. Glenn was there, a walker coming up behind him but not moving fast enough to be much of a danger.

Daryl handed Glenn one of his Blackhawks and the two of them started running in the rain across the dark field. Daryl slowed and shot any walkers within twenty feet of them as they made their way to the car. The rain started coming down harder and Daryl turned to shoot another walker. He tripped and flew through the air, landing in the wet grass face first. He scrambled to his feet, his Blackhawk still gripped in his hand.

"That guy was right, Banana Heels!" Imaginary Merle laughed.

Glenn reached the car first and shot the walkers that were standing near the car. The Blackhawk's recoil surprised him when he took his first shot, but he was ready for it after that. The gun roared and spit fire into the rain and immediately a heavy metallic click let him know the cylinder had rotated and the next bullet was ready to go. Glenn smiled. He could see why Daryl loved this gun. He looked back across the field for Daryl. Daryl was almost at the fence and Glenn jumped into the car and started it. Daryl was there seconds later, and Glenn expected him to leap into the car. Instead he looked around to see how many walkers were around and how close they were.

"Pop the hatch," Daryl said pointing to the back of the car.

Glenn was confused. "Why?"

Daryl glared at him. "Just fuckin' do it!" he snarled and opened the back door and set the Shrike across the back seat. Glenn popped the trunk and watched as Daryl removed his gun belt and put that across the back seat as well.

Glenn made a face. Was that Daryl that smelled so bad? He'd noticed the stink when Daryl had handed him the revolver beneath the peach tree, but he had figured it was just the smell of the decaying walkers all around them.

Daryl was looking around nervously and he moved to the back of the vehicle and lifted the hatch. He quickly dug down and pulled out two folded blankets and a large plastic bag. One blanket was an old olive green wool army blanket and the other a red cotton plush throw. He left the hatch open and quickly moved to the passenger side of the vehicle and threw the army blanket into the front seat. He slammed the front door and opened the back door and threw the red blanket and the plastic bag onto the seat.

Glenn wanted to ask Daryl what the hell he was doing but he decided it would be best to keep his mouth shut. The rain was coming down even harder now and Glenn was sure that Daryl was getting soaked. He turned to see what Daryl was doing and then turned back and looked out the windshield, his cheeks turning red.

Daryl was standing next to the open back door, taking his clothes off. He took everything off and peeked over his shoulder to see if Glenn was watching him. He was thankful that Glenn wasn't but kept his back to Glenn anyway. He shoved his dirty, smelly clothes into the plastic bag and rolled it up tightly. He then went to the back of the vehicle and shoved the bag into the car and slammed the hatch. He leaned back against the car and looked around for walkers. Everything appeared to be clear and he stood up straight and stretched his arms out, letting the rain rinse the blood and the stench from his body.

Glenn looked into the rear view mirror and saw Daryl, his back to him with his arms outstretched, standing in the rain. "My savior, the nut standing naked in the rain." he mumbled to himself. Glenn peeked into the rear view mirror again. A chill ran down his spine as an unexpected thought snuck into his mind. Maybe it was because he'd been exposed to the religious beliefs of Maggie and her father and that paired with what he saw and gave birth to the thought.

Daryl's head hung down as the rain ran in small streams from his hair. His hands hung limp at the ends of his outstretched arms, the water running off his fingers. Little rivers of water ran across the network of scars across his back and cascaded to the ground.

The thought swam through Glenn's mind. 'All that's missing to complete the image is the cross.'

* * *

A few moments later Daryl grabbed the red blanket out of the back seat and wrapped it around himself before sliding into the passenger seat. He settled into the seat and pulled the olive army blanket over the red plushy one and then up and over his shoulders. "Okay," he said to Glenn. "Let's go."

Glenn flipped on the headlights and shifted into drive.

Daryl closed his eyes but he could just feel Glenn's eyes on him as the young man kept taking peeks at him. Daryl sighed, "I din't wanna stink up the car, okay? "

"Yeah, sure. Of course. It's just...just great." Glenn said nervously.

Daryl smiled. "Great, huh? You okay to drive, Glenn? You're not too tired, are you?"

Glenn smiled. Daryl had actually used his name! "I'm fine to drive. I'm not tired at all. I was in that tree for hours and I'm so damned happy to be out of it, you have no idea." he wanted to add, "plus even if I was tired, I don't think it would be such a great idea for you to be driving around naked," but he didn't.

Daryl yawned. "Good. I've got a helluva headache an' tired eat. 'S been a long day."

Glenn glanced over at Daryl. "You know, that seat reclines, so you can put it back and go to sleep if you'd like."

Daryl put the seat back. "Ahhh, much better. I'm gonna rest my eyes for a bit, but I ain't goin' to sleep. We might run into more walkers 'er Lord knows what."

"Okay." Glenn said. He looked over at Daryl again. "Thanks Daryl. Thanks for saving me."

"Yeah, I'm jes' fuckin' redneck superman." Daryl mumbled.

Glenn put the blinker on by force of habit when he stopped to turn from Fairburn Road onto the highway. He stifled a giggle as he made the turn. Daryl had already fallen asleep cocooned in his blankets and had started to snore.


	70. Chapter 70

Andrea drove the F150 through the driveway gate and down to the parking area next to the house. She wasn't surprised to see everyone spilling out the kitchen door onto the porch to greet them.

Rick ran out into the driveway and helped Beth and Hershel out of the truck as Andrea opened her door and stepped out of the vehicle. Her shoulder was sore and she was looking forward to a bath, a fresh dressing for her bullet wound and a percocet.

Maggie and Carol were there a second later, both looking past the people who had just alighted from the truck and searching for two other faces.

Carol's hand flew to her mouth, "Where is Daryl?"

"And Glenn?" Maggie added as she continued to peek inside the truck as if the two missing men would magically appear.

"Glenn wasn't with the others," Andrea explained. "Daryl insisted on staying behind to find Glenn. He said he'd meet us back here later."

Carol's eyes grew wide. "He said he was going to stay back all alone and you let him? What is wrong with you? Do you want to get him killed?"

That pissed Andrea off. "Says the woman who sat on her ass while he was out risking his life searching for her daughter every day."

Carol was ready for her. "As I recall, you're the one that shot him."

"That is enough," said Dale loudly. "Carol, you know as well as anyone here that no one "lets" Daryl do anything. He does what he wants to do. He told us all that in no uncertain terms and quite loudly not too long ago. Andrea, Carol wasn't in any shape to search for Sophia. You two ladies need to calm down. Now Beth needs some medical attention and we can continue this discussion inside."

* * *

Maggie hugged her sister gently and Beth explained that the RV had run into a herd of walkers and had gone into a ditch and rolled onto it's side.

Maggie looked at her father. "Daddy? Where's Glenn? Where's Patricia?"

Hershel put his hand on Maggie's shoulder and steered her toward the house. "Me, Glenn and Dale were in the barn stacking hay when the herd of walkers showed up. Patricia had gone to the chicken coop to gather eggs. We made a run for the Winnebago and Glenn said he'd cut around to the coop to get her and bring her to the car. It was too late when he got there." The older man's eyes grew shiny with tears. "Glenn hollered over that walkers had gotten her he ran for the car. I was getting into the Winnebago as Glenn got into the little car and I saw him start it up and come after us. He was right behind us as we got through the largest group of walkers. I'm not sure what happened after we crashed, but Glenn is a smart boy and I'm sure he's fine and that Daryl will find him and bring him back safe and sound."

Hershel actually wasn't sure if Glenn was dead or alive, but he wasn't going to upset his eldest daughter by saying so. He also knew that there was no guarantee that Daryl would be back, either. He had just told Daryl the day before to stay around the house and not to wander off too far because of his head injuries and the possible effects from them. Of course, Daryl didn't listen and had been the one to come out to the farm with Andrea looking for them. Hershel was grateful that the redneck had shown up when he did and that he had hauled everyone in the RV out before the walkers had made their way inside, but Hershel felt it was foolish and risky on Daryl's part. Daryl had stunk to high heaven and had been covered in walker blood and guts and that worried Hershel, too. Daryl had wounds that had been stitched up but that wouldn't prevent the virus or bacteria or whatever it was that the walkers carried in their blood and/or saliva from entering his bloodstream through the gaps between the stitches. As he walked into the house with his daughters, Hershel wondered if there was a possibility that Daryl could become infected in that manner just as he would if he was bitten.

* * *

Glenn drove slowly through the last cleared road block, the car's wipers swishing back and forth as the rain came down in torrents. It was an odd storm, wind and rain but no thunder or lightning. He had seen a couple of soggy walkers along the way, dragging their undead selves along the roadway and moaning pitifully as they search for flesh to sate their never ending hunger.

Daryl had shifted in the car's seat as he slept and had stopped snoring and Glenn found himself starting to get sleepy as he listened to the rhythmic sounds of the windshield wipers and Daryl's breathing. He yawned and slowed the car. He decided that he would pull over and park so he could get out and stretch and jog in place for a minute or so in the rain. That should help to wake him up. Glenn waited until he was out on the open roadway again and away from all the abandoned vehicles before pulling the car over and shutting it off.

Daryl sat up quickly and looked around. He pulled the back of the seat into the upright position and then looked at Glenn. "You gettin' tired, China? Want me to drive the rest a' the way?"

Glenn was amazed at how quickly the hunter could go from sound asleep to wide awake. "No, we're almost to the turn to the lake. I was just going to step outside and stretch a bit."

Daryl nodded. "You're gonna get wet out there."

Glenn snorted. "Ya think?"

Daryl glared. Glenn was making fun of him.

Glenn was taken aback by Daryl's angry glare and he swallowed, wishing he could take back his smart-ass comment. He could hear Maggie's voice in his head say, "For God's sake, Glenn, don't poke the bear!"

Daryl turned his head and looked out the window. "Guess 'twas a stupid thing to say," he mumbled.

Glenn took off his baseball cap and stepped out of the car into the rain. He closed the car door and started to jog in place. The action had the desired effect and he was wide awake again in less than a minute. He got back into the car and started it. "Okay, that's much better," he said as he shifted into drive.

Daryl didn't speak and continued to stare out the window as if there was something out in the dark that he found fascinating.

Glenn was afraid to say anything for a few minutes, but the silence was driving him nuts. "Andrea really likes you. Do you think she's pretty?"

Daryl moved his icy gaze from the window to Glenn. "Blondie don't like me. She's jes' got a guilty conscious. Feels guilty for smackin' me with that gun." The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a hint of a smile. "Got a damned good pie outta her. Guess I should start lookin' for ways to make 'er feel guilty. Either that or let 'er hit me more often." He frowned and added, "Though all I got outta 'er when she shot me was a crappy book."

Glenn smiled. "No, really," he persisted. "She likes you. She was telling Maggie about when she saw you down at the creek the day before you left us all and…." Glenn shut his mouth, his eyes widening at the realization of what he'd just said.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at Glenn. "Blondie saw me down by the creek the day before I left y'all?"

Glenn's face flushed red. "Uh...she said saw you somewhere. Maybe it was near the creek," he stammered.

"You're a lousy liar, China. You know that?' Daryl pushed himself back into his seat and slouched down in it, pulling the blankets tighter around himself. So sneaky Andrea had seen him taking a bath in the creek. Thinking back to it, he seemed to recall feeling a bit uneasy as though he was being watched while he chased the damned bar of Ivory soap down the creek after it had gotten away from him.

Glenn sighed. "I know. I really am. But I'm telling the truth about her liking you. She was disappointed when you left. She was going to go and talk to you the next day. She said she'd like to get to know you better, and Maggie and I think she's really aching to jump your bones."

Daryl snorted. "Woman like Blondie wouldn't give me a second look unless she was drunk. You're both fuckin' delusional."

Glenn smiled. "Andrea has given you more than a second and a third look. You've never noticed that? Even I've noticed the way she looks you over sometimes. It's like watching a hungry lioness leering at a gazelle. I bet she'd sleep with you in a heartbeat. And come on, the woman is gorgeous."

Daryl thought back to the day he'd bumped into Andrea in the kitchen on his way to explore the lake house's garage. She had made him nervous by getting into his personal space and he seemed to recall her saying something about him 'cleaning up well'. No, she was just being cordial. Right? "You'er so full a bullshit an' you shouldn't be thinkin' that way 'bout Andrea when you've got Maggie. Maggie's a pretty girl." He was going to add "and she's got a really great an' totally squeezable ass," but thankfully, his brain hit the brakes before his mouth shifted into gear

Glenn blushed. "Maggie's beautiful, but Andrea is what I'd call a classic beauty. Blonde hair, blue eyes, great rack, nice butt, good skin, all wrapped up in one gorgeous and totally bad-ass package."

Daryl shook his head in disbelief. "Damn, China, if I din't know better I'd think you were hot for Blondie."

Glenn shrugged. "Just because I have a girlfriend it doesn't mean I can't look at and appreciate the beauty of other women. It works both ways, too. I know Maggie thinks you're attractive and I don't hold that against her."

Daryl burst into laughter. "You're so wrong 'bout that. Maggie thinks I'm hideous. Never seen a woman so damned interested in scars in my life. Hey, where the hell is my Ruger?"

"In the center console."

Daryl grunted and removed his gun from the console. He turned to his left and gently laid the gun next to the holster on the back seat.

Glenn was anxious to play matchmaker. Daryl and Andrea were both bad-asses and Glenn thought that they would look so good together. He was convinced that they'd have the prettiest blue eyed babies _ever_. "Seriously, though. If Andrea expressed an interest in you, would you be interested in her?"

"What the hell is this shit you're talkin' 'bout?" Daryl complained. "I feel like I'm sittin' in on some stupid teenaged girly sleepover party. Seriously? Andrea is a beautiful woman an' she's got a killer ass, but I know she wouldn't touch me an' I wouldn't touch 'er either. I'm best on my own an' she's way outta my league. Woman like Andrea'd spit on me bafore she'd talk to the likes a me. 'S all good. Women bring drama an' complications an' this world is too dangerous; let down your guard an' it can getcha killed. Relationships is distractin', an' I don' have it in me to care 'bout a woman all that much anyway. Now can we stop talkin' 'bout this stupid shit?"

Glenn glanced at Daryl for a second as he turned onto Forest Lake Road. "It isn't stupid, it's part of life and what about Maggie? I know you care for her."

"Do not."

"You do, too."

Daryl turned away from Glenn and looked out the window. He debated whether or not to tell Glenn about the skin show Maggie had put on in his room. He decided to let Maggie handle it as planned. Springing something like that on Glenn in the confines of a small vehicle that contained firearms probably wouldn't be a very smart thing to do. "I don' feel like talkin' 'bout your girlfriend," he snapped.

Glenn cringed. Was Daryl jealous? "Okay, okay. Sorry." He was quiet for a second and added, "I just think you and Andrea would be good together and that you might be happier and a bit more relaxed if you, you know..."

"Had someone to fuck like you do?" Daryl finished.

Glenn shrugged. Well...yeah...I mean, no! Maggie and I do not 'fuck', we make love."

Daryl got snarky then. "Tomato, toe-matt-o, same body mechanics, same results. Jes' 'cause you an' Rick enjoy drama an' bein' pussy-whipped don't mean I do. Like I said, I'm best on my own." Daryl hoped against hope that Glenn would just shut up and that they could continue the rest of the ride to the house in silence. Of course he wasn't that lucky.

"Are you reluctant to get close to a woman because of Lily?" Glenn asked.

Daryl glared at Glenn through narrowed eyes. Maggie had said she would keep what he had told her about Lily to herself! He was going to give her a piece of his mind when he next saw her, that was for sure.

As if reading his mind, Glenn quickly added, "When we saw that dead guy on the monitor, the one wearing your clothes, we all obviously thought it was you. Maggie had to leave and be alone to get herself together. She was really upset. When I went in to see how she was doing she made some comment about you being with Lily. I asked who Lily was."

Yeah? An' what'd she say?" Daryl asked.

"She said Lily was the only woman you'd ever loved. She said she'd tell me about her some day, unless you'd like to tell me about her." Glenn looked over at Daryl hopefully.

"Nothin' to tell," Daryl said firmly. "Was a long time ago an' I don't wanna talk about it."

Glenn looked disappointed.

Daryl didn't care.

Daryl was relieved when they turned into the driveway and started down the hill that lead to the house. "I'm sure the welcome wagon will be out in force an' ready to give us an earful of 'where were you' an' 'what happened' an' all that happy horseshit." Daryl jerked his thumbs towards himself. "And as you know, I ain't dressed for the occasion."

"No, you're really not." Glenn agreed.

"So you get out first an' herd the curious Georges inta the house and I'll wrap up in the blankets real well and hightail it to my room."

Glenn smiled. "Okay. You know, if you were anyone else in the group, I'd grab your blankets and run with them. You know, as a joke."

"You try that China an' an Hershel will be operatin' to take bullets outta your ass," Daryl warned.

Glenn raised his eyebrows, "No doubt," he agreed, "no doubt."

* * *

Daryl was right. He could see the other members of the household through the rain as they crowded out the kitchen doorway and onto the back porch.

"Okay," Glenn said, "Just sit tight and I'll get everyone inside."

Daryl nodded and reached into the glove compartment and popped the trunk as Glenn got out of the car.

Glenn ran towards the house and swung the fence gate open, almost slipping in the mud that the rain had created in the usually dusty path through the gate.

Carol ran out through the rain to meet Glenn when he was halfway across the lawn. "I need to talk to you," she said. She peeked behind him as he started by her at a jog and she turned and called after him.

"Where is Daryl?

"He's coming in a minute. He's in the car." Glenn called over his shoulder.

"Why isn't he coming now? Is he hurt?"

"He's fine." Everyone but Hershel had streamed out onto the porch to welcome the stragglers home. Hershel was camped out on one of the comfortable leather couches in the great room. Damp weather really wrecked havoc with his arthritis and he preferred to wait for the group to return to the comfort and warmth of the room.

Maggie ran to Glenn and gave him a hug as everyone crowded around him asking him what had happened and if he and Daryl were okay. They had already heard Andrea and Dale tell of their adventures that evening and listened to Hershel belly-ache about how horrible the interior of the truck smelled.

"The walkers got between me and the car and they came after me." Glenn explained. "I ran but there were dozens of them coming from all directions and boxing me in. I ended up climbing up one of the old peach trees near the woods."

The questions came fast and furious.

"You were in a tree?" asked Dale.

"Is that where Daryl found you?" Maggie asked.

"Is Daryl okay?" Carol asked. "Why is he still in the car?"

"Does the Hyundai reek now, too?" Andrea inquired.

Rick took over and started to steer the others into the house. "Let's all get inside and Glenn can fill us in and answer all our questions, right, Glenn? I'm sure Daryl will join us in a few minutes."

The group filed into the house and paraded into the great room. Glenn sat on a couch and Maggie sat down next to him, grabbing his arm possessively and holding his hand in hers.

Carol's eyes met Maggie's and Carol gave her a smirk as Glenn started to tell the others what had happened and how Daryl had rescued him after he'd spent hours in the tree surrounded by walkers.

* * *

Daryl watched as the group left the porch and went into the house. He waited a minute and then wrapped the two blankets around him tightly and stepped out of the car. The rain was still coming down hard and he moved quickly to the back of the car and pulled the bag holding his clothes out before slamming the hatch and recovering his guns and holster from the back seat. He ran toward the gate, awkwardly trying to keep the blankets wrapped around him with the hand that clutched the plastic bag with his clothes in it as his other hand gripped his holster and the Shrike. He hit mud near the gate and slid, skating on one foot before miraculously avoiding disaster by keeping his balance and then stepping with his other foot onto slightly less slippery grass.

"Woo hoo Darleena! You shoulda been a one a them girly ice skater fags! That was quite the move! I'll give ya an 8.5. Now lets see you do one a them back-flips."

"I'll give you a back flip when I get ahold a you, asshole," Daryl grumbled to Imaginary Merle.

Daryl walked as quickly as he could to the porch and dropped the blankets in front of his exterior door before he entered his room. He turned and locked the door behind him and threw his holster holding the Rugers onto his bed. He darted into the bathroom and returned with four hand towels, then pulled his gun cleaning kit from the second drawer of his tall dresser. After spreading a towel out on his bed, he sat and pulled the Rugers from the holster, running the towel over each one several times to get every trace of water he could find off of them. He cleaned and oiled the chambers and the barrels and placed the guns on a clean, dry towel he'd spread out on top of his dresser. The holster was dried off as well and he hung it on a coat peg above the bench. He'd haul out the saddle soap and clean it and buff it in the afternoon. It was already after 3am.

Now that the guns had been dried and cleaned, it was shower time. He had just stepped into the bathroom when there was a knock on his door. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah?" he asked loudly.

"Are you coming out?" It was Lori. "We'd all like to see you and Hershel is especially interested in talking to you."

"I need to shower an' it's late. Why don't y'all get to bed an' tell Hershel I'll see 'im tomorrow?" He closed the bathroom door loudly to avoid hearing her reply and turned on the shower. He was glad that he'd locked the door to his room.

He washed his hair three times and scrubbed his skin with the sea sponge and then with a scratchy loofah until his skin felt raw, trying to get the stink of death off of himself. When he was satisfied that he was as clean as he was going to get, he shut off the water and dried himself off. He could still smell the faint scent of decayed flesh so he opened the cupboard below the sink and pulled out a can of Lysol spray. "Kills Viruses, Germs, Mold & Mildew" the can proclaimed in bright red letters. Daryl was more interested in what it said in smaller letters beneath the bold claims. "Eliminates Odors" . He aimed the can at his chest and started spraying. He sprayed almost every inch of his body and the bottoms of his feet, before giving his hair a couple of blasts from the can. A Lysol aerosol fog now permeated the bathroom and the can was just about empty. The concentration of the disinfectant in the air made him start to cough and he put the can back under the sink and exited the bathroom, coughing and hacking.

The areas where he had stitches stung something awful. He looked at the patch on his abdomen. One of the corners had peeled back and he sighed. It needed to be changed. He put on a pair of clean boxer briefs and decided he'd try to change the stupid dressing himself.

There was a knock on the door.

"Don't you people ever sleep?!" Daryl yelled at the door.

"Glenn's taking a shower and I want to see how your dressing looks." said Maggie's voice.

Daryl sighed and unlocked his door. He opened it to admit Maggie and closed it behind her. "Should I expect the rest of the household to come bangin' on my door?"he asked her.

She smiled. "Lori told us all that you were exhausted and that you were going to take a shower and go to bed. Rick told everyone else that we should leave you alone and let you rest and that we could catch up with you after you'd gotten some sleep."

Daryl smirked, "And yet, here you are."

Maggie grinned. "Let me take a look at that...yeah, it definitely needs to be changed.

"I've got a bone ta pick with you," Daryl announced.

Maggie sighed. "I know. Daryl, we all thought you were dead. I was desperately trying to find meaning or comfort or anything to help me deal with how much it hurt. The only solace I had was that you were with Lily and I messed up and said it out loud. I didn't give Glenn any specifics at all and I'm really, really sorry."

Well, shit. How was he supposed to stay mad at her after that?

She frowned suddenly and moved a little closer to him. "What the heck, Daryl? Did you bathe in Lysol?"

Daryl blushed. She probably thought he was a moron. "Nah, but I could still smell walker guts on me after my shower, so I kinda sprayed myself down."

Maggie's eyes got big. "You can't do that!" she exclaimed. You're going to burn and itch like crazy!"

Daryl shrugged. "Don't rightly care so long as ah don't stink." He looked at Maggie and she could see worry in his face as he asked her, "Do I?"

Maggie moved in closer to him and made a show of putting her nose very close to his arms, chest and shoulders and taking loud, audible sniffs.

He smiled and she pronounced him stink free.

"Let's get your boo boo repacked and bandaged." she said with a smile.

"I'll stay awake for this one." he told her as be sat down on the bed.

She turned and walked toward the bathroom to get what she needed. "Why don't we just do this the regular way and tomorrow you can stay awake through the process. I mean I'm assuming you must be dead tired now and your next step was going to be to go to bed and sleep anyway, am I right?"

"You do have a point there." Daryl conceded as he laid back and rested his achy head on a pillow. "I was dyin' for a piece a pie while I was out at the farm an' I'm too damned tired right now to even care 'bout eatin'."

"Glad to see you agree, then," she called from the bathroom. She returned a minute later with what she needed and arranged the basins, tape and other supplies on the bedside table as Daryl watched her. She prepared the syringe and set it on the table and turned back to Daryl. She smiled down at him and pushed the hair out of his eyes.

He could see her gray eyes glistening with unshed tears as she looked into his eyes and he was going to ask her what had happened to make her sad when she ran a hand gently across his cheek and whispered, "Thank you so so much for bringing Glenn home safely, my brave and cunning Tiger." Then she leaned in closer to him and her lips touched his.

She was Glenn's girlfriend and Daryl knew that but he also knew she cared about him. She had shown him that time and time again. For some reason, she thought his worthless stupid self was worth knowing. She thought his life was worth saving and it amazed him that she hated to see him in pain. She did everything in her power to manage it for him, whether he wanted her to or not. She'd blessed (or cursed) him with a nickname and she wasn't afraid of him and she didn't hold a grudge when he'd been an asshole to her. He couldn't help it. Glenn was a good guy and Daryl liked him, but he still couldn't help it. Maybe it was because his close call with the Mungus brothers had reminded him that death could come at any day and from any direction. For whatever reason, when her lips touched his in a chaste kiss he suddenly found his left hand grasping the back of her head and he buried his fingers in her hair. He wrapped his right arm around her and kissed her. It wasn't a soft or gentle kiss. It was a desperate, rough, hungry, 'its the end of the world and I could have died today' kiss. He parted his lips as they pushed against hers and he ran his tongue along her lips and then her tongue was in his mouth, tasting, probing, playing. He kissed her again, deeply and passionately, the rustiness from the passage of over a decade since he'd kissed anyone this way falling away. He moved his left hand from her hair and slid it down her back and then pulled her tightly against him as his tongue explored her mouth. The kiss lasted a long time, but not nearly long enough.

Maggie pulled away and smiled as she pretended to fan herself. "Holy shit, Tiger," she exclaimed. "That was just...just..." she was having a hard time finding the right words. "Holy shit," she repeated.

"You kiss your daddy with that dirty mouth?" he asked, playfully.

"Says the guy who says 'fuck' more than he says 'and', 'but' and 'or' combined," Maggie shot back.

"Touche'... I'm sorry, Maggie. I din't plan on doin' that."

"Neither did I," Maggie admitted. "and I'm sorry, too." She sighed. "I don't know what it is about you that makes me want to.." she stopped in mid sentence.

"Makes you want to what?" Daryl asked.

Maggie turned to the bedside table. "Nevermind," she said.

Daryl nodded. "You're right. Some things are better left unsaid." He stretched out his arm towards her and she cleaned a spot with an alcohol swab and administered the sedative. She hummed as she cleaned and repacked Daryl's incision and she pulled the Sharpie out of the drawer and drew a smiley face on the top bandage. Daryl was still sleeping when she was done putting everything away and she placed a glass of water on the nightstand for him and pulled the light blue quilt up over him before pushing in the door knob locking mechanism. She took one last look at him before switching off the light and closing the door.

* * *

Her head was spinning as she walked up the stairs. She had no idea that Daryl Dixon could kiss like that. No one had ever kissed her like that and damned, if he was that talented with his lips and his tongue, what was he like...no, no. "You can't have your cake and eat it, too, Mags," she mumbled to herself. Then again if she could talk Glenn and Daryl into a little mènage à trois... She cringed. What the hell was she thinking? No, she decided. The best way to stop this growing attraction she had to Daryl was to try to hook him up with Andrea. She smiled. She and Glenn could work on that together. She stopped outside her bedroom door and knocked.

"Come in." Glenn's voice called.

Maggie stepped into candle-lit room. Glenn was rubbing a towel against his wet hair. "Hey," he said. "I just barely got out of the shower."

Maggie smiled and locked the bedroom door. She turned and faced Glenn and gave him a big grin and slid out of her jeans.

Glenn thought he saw a flash of red, then Maggie unbuttoned and slipped off her shirt, revealing the red negligee she had on beneath her clothes. Glenn whimpered.

"You.." he said to Maggie as he looked her over while he continued to rub the towel in his hair, "look so damned sexy in that."

Maggie ran for the bed and launched herself at him, tackling him to the mattress. He grabbed her and hugged her and she hugged him back. "Lets remind each other how good it can feel to be alive." Maggie whispered in his ear.

Glenn laughed. "Best idea I've heard all day."


	71. Chapter 71

Daryl hauled his tired self out of bed at 5:30am. He wasn't surprised to find the rest of the household asleep as he quietly made his way upstairs to the third floor and the war room. He stepped into the room and soundlessly closed the door behind him. After opening a few file drawers by the wall of monitors he found what he wanted.

Daryl had decided that he was going to leave and head north and the sooner the better. He couldn't stay there in the house with the group any longer. He had told himself that many times and for many different reasons but the last straw had been his failure to control himself with Maggie. He had fallen completely in lust with her and damn, he had actually made a move on her and he'd kissed her!

Imaginary Merle was delighted. "Proud a' you little brother. Didn't know you had it in you 'cause you're such a pussy, but you made a move, ya sneaky asshole. I tol' ya that you could take 'er away from the chink. She wants you, Lord knows why, but the woman wants your sorry ass."

Daryl knew that Imaginary Merle was full of shit. Maggie didn't want him. She was in love with Glenn and he was sure that the minute she'd been able to finish up taking care of his worthless ass, she had run straight to the bedroom she shared with Glenn and spent the night fucking the hell out of the lucky bastard.

What the hell was wrong with him? He had crossed the line and he knew that if Maggie had been receptive to the idea, he would have slept with her with no hesitation. How could he even think of doing that to her and to Glenn? When had he taken the step from shy, quiet, woman avoiding Daryl Dixon to bold, sneaky and 'horny for Maggie Greene' Daryl Dixon?

It was her fault, he told himself. She was the one that had started paying attention to him and acting all friendly. She was the one that acted like she cared about him and kept coming back for more when he'd tried to push her away. She was the one that saved his ass.

"Don't be such an asshole," he mumbled to himself. "'s your fault for lettin' 'er get close." He could remedy the situation though and do right by Maggie and especially by Glenn. He could redeem himself by leaving. He decided that he hadn't gone totally 'dark side' and that made him feel a little better. After all, if he had, and if he really wanted Maggie for himself, would he have gone out of his way to save Glenn? No, if he'd really wanted Maggie, Glenn would still be sitting in a peach tree forty plus miles away.

Daryl examined the contents of the files. As he suspected, there were bases set up in every state. He wondered how many of them were actually in operation and if there were any out there that had been commandeered by civilians like Looking Glass base had been.

He wanted to go north to Maine and according to the papers he examined, there were two bases in Maine. One in Portland and one up almost into Canada in Rogue Bluffs. He liked the sound of that. Rogue Bluffs. There was a photo of a large old house that sat on a cliffed peninsula overlooking the ocean. The information indicated that the house was equipped similarly to the lake house and that a Colonel Silas Nelson and his family were the chief occupants of the base. Daryl read more specifics on the house and looked over the blueprints. Three floors, seven bedrooms and a one bedroom apartment off the four bay garage. A barn for animals, six fireplaces and a wood fired furnace and two wood stoves. The house was set up for solar power as well and came with three boats, five snowmobiles, five ATVs and three specialized Humvees. Daryl raised his eyebrows as he looked at the pages of information. He loved the house he was in, but the cliff house or "Rogue Base" (he smirked when he read the name, was the person responsible for the moniker a Star Wars fan or was it because the house was in Rogue Bluffs or both?) looked like it would be just as appealing or even more-so. He hoped the base had been lost and was deserted like Looking Glass base was, but he'd wait until he'd gotten up close to it to worry about what to do if it was still manned and 'fully operational'.

Daryl decided that when Glenn was out and about later that day, he would ask him to help him set up the HAM radio. He was surprised that Rick hadn't made that a priority as it could potentially give them information on other active bases across the country. He was especially interested to see if the Maine bases would be broadcasting. Daryl stuffed several maps and the Maine bases blueprints and information sheets into an empty folder and silently returned to his room. He put the folder on his bedside table and grabbed the plastic bag holding the nasty smelling clothes he had worn the day before.

In the laundry room, he tried not to gag as he rinsed his clothes in the sink until the water running through them had turned from a muddy reddish brown color to clear and then he threw them into the washing machine with soap and a quart of bleach. So what if his clothes came out horribly faded. It was a small price to pay to get the stink out of them.

Back in his room he began to pack up his belongings. He didn't have a lot and he was thankful for that. He had put most of his clothes into a large contractor trash bag when the mild headache he had awakened with started to get worse and he found himself getting very tired. He yawned and looked at the clock on his wall. It was almost 8am. He figured that he had only gotten about two hours of sleep since his adventure at the Greene property. He decided to try to get another hour or so of sleep and he pulled his shirt off over his head and collapsed into his bed. He groaned and moved onto his right side and nestled into the pile of pillows. He was really going to miss this bed, he told himself. He let his mind drift as he waited for sleep to take him. He thought of the ocean and of Maine and snow. It would be nice there, he decided, and he would be alone again. It would be good to be alone again.

It was 11:00 am when Daryl woke to the shrill sound of knocking on his door. "Go away." he grumbled.

Hershel's voice drifted through the door. "Daryl? Could I come in? I really need to talk with you."

Daryl yawned and rubbed his eyes as he sat up. He swung his legs over the side of the bed. "Mornin' Hershel. C'mon in."

"My hands are full, could you let me in?" Hershel asked.

"Sure, give me a sec." Daryl stood up and stretched. He winced as the wound in his left side and the stitched area in his left forearm protested. He walked to the door and opened it for Hershel and Hershel held a cup of coffee out to him.

"I was told you like it black," the vet said. "but I have to warn you. It's decaf."

"Thanks, but decaf? Whats the point?" Daryl asked as he took the coffee from Hershel. Hershel held his own cup of coffee and Daryl motioned for him to sit down in the chair by the closet. He sat down on the end of his bed facing the man and sipped at his coffee. Decaf. Bleh. Hershel looked like he wanted to say something, but he remained silent so Daryl took the initiative and asked, "So what's up?"

"How are you feeling today?" Hershel asked.

"Ain't been awake long enough to be able to form an opinion on that." Daryl said. "woke up with a headache, but I had one that hung aroun' yesterday all day, so I was sort a expectin' it."

Hershel nodded. "Where does it feel like the headache originates, or can you tell?"

Daryl closed his eyes for a second, then opened them. "'S different today 'n yesterday. Today more 'bove my right ear."

"Where you were kicked." It was more of a statement than a question.

Daryl nodded, "Yeah, I suppose so."

"And yesterday?"

"Was right behind where Blondie'd brained me with 'er gun."

Hershel raised his eyebrows. "Does it ache at all where it did yesterday?"

"Nah, it don't."

"Have you had the chills or felt hot? Any fever? Muscle aches?"

Daryl shrugged. "No chills or fever an' muscle aches are a common thing. My own fault 'cause I'm pretty lousy at body mechanics. i forget ta bend my knees when I lift somethin' heavy an' all that sort a shit."

Hershel stood up and pointed at Daryl's left arm. "May I take a look at your stitches?" he asked.

"Sure. Don't see why not." Daryl moved his coffee into his right hand and stretched his left arm out. He was surprised when Hershel sat on the bed next to him and he moved to stand up.

Hershel put a hand on his shoulder. "Just sit still. I won't bite you."

Daryl had flinched when the older man had put his hand on his shoulder, spilling some of his coffee onto his right leg. He hoped that Hershel hadn't noticed his clumsiness and it appeared that he'd been too busy looking at Daryl's stitches on his forearm to have noticed. Hershel examined his stitches for what Daryl thought was an uncomfortably long time and then moved on to scrutinize the stitches in his forehead.

Hershel was relieved. Daryl's stitched up wounds were already healing and there was no unusual redness or swelling around the stitches to indicate infection. He was aware of Daryl's eyes on him as he carefully examined the healing wound and the right side of Daryl's face. Hershel pulled his penlight out of his shirt pocket and clicked it on. "I know you don't like it when I do this," he warned as he aimed the flashlight beam into the outer corner of Daryl's right eye. He turned the light off and then back on a couple of times to gauge the reaction and the speed of the reaction of Daryl's pupil to the light and then did the same with the left eye.

Daryl saw spots before his eyes as the annoying little light assaulting his eyes flashed on and then off. "You're right, I don't like it," he grumbled.

Hershel moved the light back and forth between Daryl's eyes a few times. "Could you put your hand over your right eye and then look beyond me to the closet door?" he asked Daryl.

Daryl did as he was asked and Hershel stared into his left eye .

"Okay, now cover your left eye and look at the closet door, please."

Daryl complied with Hershel's request.

"Thank you," Hershel said, "now both eyes open, please."

Daryl opened both eyes. This was starting to get annoying and he was about to say so.

Hershel moved the penlight back and forth between Daryl's eyes, turning it off and then on before clicking it off. "Is the vision field in both of your eyes the same?" Hershel asked.

Daryl closed his eyes and then opened them. He looked around the room and focused his eyes on Hershel's face as it was close (too damned close) and then on the closet door which was farther away. "Tunnel vision in my right eye. Got no peripheral vision in it. Usually happens right before a really nasty headache."

Hershel nodded. "Many people experience tunnel vision if their blood pressure shoots up." He reached for Daryl's wrist. "May I?" he asked.

Daryl nodded and watched as Hershel ran his fingers across his wrist and pressed the first two fingers of his right hand against the underside. "How the hell do you check blood pressure like that?" Daryl asked.

Hershel smiled. "You don't. I'm checking your pulse. The rate and the strength of your pulse can give me some indications as to your blood pressure. Okay, now grasp my hands in yours and squeeze when I tell you to."

Daryl grasped Hershel's hands in his and raised an eyebrow. "What the hell's this all about?" he asked.

"Patience." Hershel admonished. "Just humor me here and when we're done I'll tell you. Now squeeze and try to squeeze with equal strength in both hands."

Daryl did and was surprised when the grip in his right hand seemed to be stronger than his left hand, even though he tried to squeeze equally with both hands.

"Okay." Hershel said. "Now squeeze my hand with your left hand, as hard as you can."

Daryl refused. "Ah don't wanna be breakin' yer fingers 'er nothin'," he said to the older man.

Hershel smiled again. "I'll holler if you squeeze harder than I expected and if I need you to stop," he said.

Daryl squeezed Hershel's right hand with his left hand as hard as he could and was surprised when Hershel didn't tell him to stop for several seconds.

Hershel shook his hands as though he was shaking water from them and rubbed his wrists. "What I was doing was a very basic TBI assessment. TBI stands for traumatic brain injury."

Daryl recalled the conversation he'd had with Hershel about subdural hemorrhaging as they'd sat on the deck by the lake the morning before. He pointed to his head. "You think I'm bleedin' in here?"

Hershel nodded. "You're displaying symptoms of subdural hemorrhaging. You have a headache, your pupils are dilated and your right pupil reacts sluggishly to light. The strength of your grip is very uneven. Your left side is weaker than your right side."

Daryl ran his hand through his hair, gliding his fingers over the old gash in his head. "Well shit," he said.

Hershel looked worried. "Have you had trouble walking? Keeping your balance? You didn't happen to hit your head again somewhere yesterday, did you?"

Daryl smirked. "Yeah, I did. Big ass walker knocked me down an' I hit my head on the roadway. Made me see stars an' I almost blacked out, so I guess I musta banged it pretty hard. I ain't' had a problem with walkin' or keepin' my balance. Not yet, anyway."

"I'm going to start you on a corticosteroid. It will help to control the swelling to some extent. If you need something stronger for pain, too, let me know."

Daryl swallowed and nodded. He looked at the floor and started chewing his left thumbnail. The two men sat in silence. After a moment Daryl raised his eyes and looked at Hershel. "I'm royally fucked, ain't I?" It was really more of a statement than a question. He hated the sad and sympathetic look on Hershel's face in answer to his question.

"I'm sorry, son. Right now all I can do for you is keep you comfortable and try to control the swelling with drugs."

Daryl smiled and Hershel was surprised at the wave of sadness that hit him at the unexpected expression from the hunter.

"You've always been a straight shooter with me, Hershel, an' I 'preciate that. I know I don't deserve it an' I got no right to ask, but I was wonderin' if you could do a favor for me. I'll understand if you say 'no'."

Hershel swallowed. "I'm happy to do whatever I can for you. You saved my life yesterday at your own peril and I'll do anything you want me to do and you do deserve it." He patted Daryl's knee and quietly said, "I also want you to know that I'm still holding out for a miracle. For some reason God seems to like tossing them your way."

Daryl pursed his lips and smirked. He was quite sure he'd reached his quota of miracles. "What I'd really like is for you to keep this to yerself. I don' want everyone getting all whooped up. Before you answer me, jes' hear me out. Please." He took a deep breath. "'S my understandin' that we can't tell how long I've got, so I'm gonna confine myself to my room until I'm able to leave here. There's a deadbolt on the door that locks from the hall out there. Always wondered why anyone would put a deadbolt on the outside of a bedroom door but I guess 't was a good idear." He swallowed and continued. "Like I said, I'm gonna leave. Get my belongings inta the truck an' get outta Dodge before the shit hits the fan. If somethin' happens before I leave," _if I keel over and die, and come back as a monster,_ "I'll be locked in here an' I won't be able to hurt anyone before someone can put me down."

Hershel was surprised at how well Daryl was taking the information he had given him and he was touched that Daryl immediately thought of the well-being of the others in the house. For someone who claimed not to care for people, Daryl certainly seemed to work hard to insure the safety and comfort of the group. Hershel was struck by the irony. He agreed to adhere to Daryl's wishes. He also decided that there was no reason to mention his previous concerns about the possibility of Daryl becoming infected with the walker virus. Hershel decided that Daryl already had enough to deal with.

Hershel left the room and Daryl leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees with his head in his hands. He had always thought he'd go down fighting a walker or at the hands of some hostile human, and that was okay, because he would recognize the situation as being life threatening when he stepped into it. This was a totally different situation and he hated it. He could potentially walk into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, fall down dead and no one might know until he got up and tried to eat another member of the household. He decided that there was no way he could take a chance of that happening.

He considered opting out. He could grab a shovel and dig a nice grave over behind the large white quartz stone in the meadow and then just climb down into it and blow his brains out. All the others would have to do was throw the dirt back into the hole. That would work, except for the fact that Andrea had told him how traumatizing it was to see anybody she knew with their brains blown out.

He could tie a big rock around his ankle, paddle the canoe out to the middle of the lake and drop the rock into the lake at the same time he shot himself. The canoe would eventually drift into shore and he'd never be found.

"You're one sick fucker," Imaginary Merle opined. "Thinkin' a ways to off yourself. Don' be such a pussy. Jes' put your bike into the back a' your crappy truck, throw all your shit in it an' come lookin' for me."

Daryl sighed. "Can't do that, bro. End a the road. This time for real."

Imaginary Merle snorted. "You're a stupid shit, ain't ya? Din't ya learn nothin' from ol' Merle? You're a Dixon, dummy. Only a Dixon can kill a Dixon. Don' let the killed Dixon an' the killer Dixon be one an' the same, you dumb ass. You're gonna be fine. You're always dodgin' bullets. You been doin' it since you were a scrawny lil' runt. Ain't you ever noticed that? You're always getting' hurt, sometimes real bad, but nothin' ever kills ya. Anyone else it'd kill, but you keep breathin' an' your heart keeps beatin'. You always heal up jes' in time to take another hit. Horse Doc's right, you know, an' I think you got assigned to the toughest damn mother fuckin' guardian angel ever. Face it, some a us were jes' born to suffer, little brother. 'S our lot in life."

Daryl was loading gas cans into the bed of his truck two hours later when Andrea approached him. She saw that he had loaded his motorcycle onto the truck bed and tied it down and she wondered why he would be preparing to go for a potentially multi-day run for supplies.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she watched him work to secure the five tanks down with bungee cords. "You don't need to go on a supply run. There's enough food, water and fuel here to last for a long, long time." She smiled. "Hey! If you're going out scouting the area, though, can I come, too? That would be fun!"

Before Daryl could answer her, Andrea peeked into the cab and saw a pile of white fluffy pillows stacked up in the corner behind the passenger's seat.

Her eyes grew wide and she brought up her hands like she was stopping traffic. "Whoa, whoa, whats going on here? Are you planning on leaving?"

Daryl finished securing the gas tanks and turned to walk back to the house. "Not jes' plannin'. I'm leavin'," he called to her over his shoulder.

She followed him across the lawn toward the porch. "What? You can't just leave!"

Daryl spun around and faced her. "Why not?" he snapped. "Do I got to get Rick's permission or fill out a request form? Not very fuckin' likely!"

Andrea drew back a couple steps from him. Those light blue, angry eyes were narrowed at her and she felt like she had just pulled a Tiger's tail "No...you can't leave because…because we need you, that's why," she managed to stammer.

Daryl waved his hand at her as if dismissing her and turned on his heels heading back towards the house. "You do not. You jes' said yourself that 'there's enough food, water an' fuel to last a long, long time', so don't bullshit me, Blondie."

She followed him up onto the porch and into his room. "I'm just getting to know you better and you're not done healing! Hershel isn't going to like this!" Daryl whipped open the closet door and hauled out the two guitars in their cases. He turned and thrust one at Andrea. "Here, put this in the truck," he ordered.

"No!" she barked and she marched over and stood in the doorway facing him and blocking his exit. "You're not going anywhere!"

Daryl glared at her. She stood with her arms folded and her face was flushed. She looked quite angry.

"If you ain't gonna help, then get the hell outta my way," he growled and he pushed past her, carrying a guitar case in each hand. He strode purposefully across the lawn and towards his truck with Andrea jogging along behind him like a lost puppy.

"Daryl Dixon, you can't just take off by yourself! That is so selfish! We really, really need you here! I told you, you're the most important person in this group!" Daryl opened the truck's passenger door and arranged the guitars behind the seat.

Andrea reached over the side of the truck bed and grabbed Daryl's tent roll and his Harley luggage bag and carried them back to the house, depositing them on the floor next to his bed. He was coming back into the room as she was headed out his door and back to the truck. He hadn't seen what she had done. He went into the bathroom to collect a few towels and some toiletries and as he exited the bathroom to bring them out to the car he saw Andrea enter his room from the exterior door with an armful of pillows she'd taken out of his truck.

"What the hell are you doin'?" he yelled.

"I'm not going to let you leave! I can bring stuff in from your truck just as fast as you can take it out to it!" Andrea shouted as she tossed the pile of pillows onto his bed.

Daryl winced as his headache ramped things up a notch and Andrea noticed when he did.

He dropped the items he was holding to the floor and put up his hands in an 'I give up' gesture. Then he backed up and sunk into his chair by the closet. "Fine, jes' fine," he grumbled as he leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands.

Andrea move towards him, her eyes wide with concern. "Are you okay?"

Daryl brought his head up and glared at her. "You know, I swear I'm gonna kill the next person that asks me that question."

Maggie peeked into Daryl's room from the porch. His eyes met hers and he sighed and looked down at the floor. Maggie exchanged a worried glance with Andrea and then looked back at Daryl and asked, "Are you okay?"

Daryl looked up and glared at Maggie.

Andrea giggled.


	72. Chapter 72

Daryl pointed his finger like a gun at Maggie and said, "Bang."

Maggie gave Daryl a puzzled look. "What was that for?"

Andrea answered for Daryl. "Daryl said he'd kill the next person who asked him if he was okay," she explained. "And you're just in time! You need to help me. Daryl is packing up his truck. He's leaving!"

Maggie's eyes shot to Daryl. "You can't leave," she told him. "We need you here and you're still healing, dammit. Are you crazy?"

"Might jes' be at that. Now if y'all ain't gonna help me load my truck then jes' scram. I got a lot a shit to do."

"I'm here to repack your wound," Maggie announced. "And while I'm doing it, we can discuss this ridiculous 'I'm leaving' plan of yours."

Daryl stood up and pointed a finger at Andrea. "You leave my stuff alone and don't be bringing things in from my truck, dammit." he barked. He turned to Maggie and pointed at her. "As far as my 'I'm leavin'' plan goes, there ain't nothin' to discuss. Now I want you to watch me change the damned dressin' so I can be sure I can do it right."

"You want to repack your wound yourself? You're really serious?"

"Damned right I am." Daryl stood up and stepped over the towels and the items he'd dropped on the floor moments before on his way into the bathroom. Maggie followed him in. He turned to face her. "I can manage to get the stuff on my own." he snapped. He pulled what he thought was needed out of the bathroom cupboard.

"Lord, you're cranky. Why are you leaving?" Maggie asked as she watched him gather items from the cupboard. "It will be autumn soon and we need to buckle down for winter. And you aren't well enough to be heading out on your own! Not yet. And I don't want you to leave! You're my best friend and.."

Daryl turned and faced Maggie. "I don't need no friends! I'm leavin' cause I don't belong here an' I'm sick an' tired of y'all constantly buggin' the hell outta me! Seems like someone's poundin' on my damned door every minute a the day an' I'm damned sick a hearin' 'are you okay?' all the fuckin' time. 'S drivin' me batshit crazy! I've gotta get away from here." He pushed past her with his armload of supplies. "Now are you gonna watch me do this 'er what?"

Maggie was right on his heels as he entered the bedroom again. "You don't need friends? You _ass_! Yes, I'll watch you, but it's going to hurt and there's no reason for that." She glared at him as he placed the items in his arms on the bedside table and added, "We only ask if you're okay because we care about you, you jerk!"

"Then y 'all best stop fuckin' carin'. Bitch."

Maggie glared at Daryl. "Why are you being such an asshole?"

Daryl ignored her and looked around the room for Andrea. He almost blew a fuse when she walked though the exterior door and into his room carrying the contractor bag with his clothes in it and one of the guitars he had put in the truck. "Blondie! I told you to leave my shit alone!" he yelled.

"I'm not letting you just leave!" Andrea yelled back.

Daryl sat down on the edge of his bed and winced as his headache increased in intensity. His head was pounding and he closed his eyes and gripped the bed on either side of him tightly with both hands. He hung his head and took a deep breath and then he felt a hand on his shoulder. He flinched away from it.

"Your headache, how bad is it?" Maggie asked quietly as she settled her hand gently on his shoulder again.

Andrea looked at Daryl and then at Maggie with wide eyes. "I'm sorry. Oh Daryl, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have yelled and.."

"Leave me be," Daryl said gruffly. "Jes' go an' leave me be."

Andrea looked at Daryl and then at Maggie. Daryl's brow was furrowed and his eyes were still closed tightly against the pain. Maggie was slowly rubbing Daryl's shoulder and she felt him slightly lean into her hand. She wasn't sure if he even knew he'd done it.

"I'm leaving." Andrea said in a little more than a whisper, "and I'm sorry, Daryl, I'm so sorry. I just really want you to stay." She slipped out onto the porch and closed the door quietly behind her.

Maggie continued to rub Daryl's shoulder and started to rub his upper back.

He sighed and said, "Maggie, as nice as that feels, you need to get out, too. I jes' need to lie down for a bit 'til this goes away, so please, let me be."

Maggie was quiet for a moment, then said, "Let me give you something that will help make it better. "

"I'll take care of it. Now go. Please." Before I grab you and start kissing you again against my better judgment, headache be damned.

Maggie sighed. "Alright. If that's what you want. "

"It is."

Maggie didn't argue and stood to leave. She had walked a few steps when she stopped and turned back to Daryl. "I didn't tell Glenn," she said. "Not yet. The opportunity just didn't.."

"Can we talk about it later?" Daryl interrupted.

Maggie nodded. "Sure. Of course we can. I'll stop in later to see how you're doing and I'll watch you change your dressing. I'm sorry I was snippy with you."

"An I'm sorry I" 'm an asshole, now go." Daryl said and shooed her away with his hands. He heard her leave and he sighed as he got to his feet and trudged over to the exterior door and locked it. He arranged the pillows that Andrea had returned to his room from his truck and shifted around on the bed. He didn't bother to kick off his shoes before burying his head in the pile of pillows. His head pounded in his skull and he concentrated on his breathing to try to distract himself from the ache.

Daryl was not pleased with Andrea's attempt to thwart his getaway. Rick had taken Lori and Carl out in the bow rider in the late morning along with a picnic lunch and great plans to explore the forest on the other side of the lake. With Rick gone for potentially hours, Daryl felt this was a golden opportunity to pack up and prepare to leave without having to explain himself to the group's leader. He hadn't approached Glenn yet about setting up the HAM radio, and he had toyed with the idea of explaining it to Maggie so she could suggest it to Glenn. He was sure Glenn would be more receptive to the idea if it came from Maggie.

Daryl finally gave up trying to push down the pain and dry swallowed two Tylenol with Codeine tablets. He knew his headache would get progressively worse as the pressure in his head built up and he wasn't sure how he was going to be able to handle that. He decided he'd cross that bridge when he got to it.

Rick was sitting at the patio table watching Carl fish off the dock when Daryl stepped out the door and onto the deck an hour later. Daryl looked in Rick's direction and raised a hand to him, then headed across the deck towards him. Rick cringed when Daryl looked over at him. Rick's right cheek was bruised purple where his cheekbone had been broken and the bridge of his nose was bruised. Daryl's face looked much worse than his and it made Rick feel sick to his stomach. When Daryl reached the table, he stood in front of Rick with his eyes on the floor and his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. He was quiet for a few seconds, and then he raised his eyes and met Rick's, cleared his throat and said, "I gotta talk to you 'bout sumthin',"

Rick could tell the man was nervous and he tried his best to put him at ease. He smiled and motioned to the chair next to him. "I was just going to go grab a beer. Why don't you sit down and I'll go grab us each one and then we'll talk. Is that okay with you?"

Daryl licked his lips and nodded. "I. 'spose that'd be okay."

Rick pushed his chair back and stood up as Daryl sat down in the chair opposite his, not the one next to his that he had motioned to.

Daryl watched Rick as he disappeared through the door and into the house. The sound of splashing and Carl's excited whoops caused Daryl to turn his attention to where Carl sat fishing off the end of the dock.

Carl's excitement abated when he pulled the fish he'd caught out of the water. "Darn it! Why am I only catching sunfish?" he griped.

Daryl watched as Carl unhooked the bluegill sunfish he'd caught and threw it back into the lake. He cleared his throat and called out to Carl, "You're fishin' with worms, ain't cha? All you're gonna get is sunnies and if you're lucky, a tiny little bass."

Carl's turned towards where Daryl sat leaning back in the patio chair, his legs stretched out in front of him and his arms hooked over the chair's armrests. Carl thought Daryl looked like he was about to take a nap and he smiled at the redneck. "When I went fishing with Andrea and Dale we caught trout on worms. Why can't I now? Can you help me?" he asked hopefully.

"C'mere an' I'll tell you a secret." Daryl said to Carl.

Carl walked quickly over to the patio table and planted himself in the empty chair next to Daryl's. Daryl sat up and leaned forward towards Carl, motioning with his finger for the boy to get closer. Carl leaned in towards Daryl and Daryl made a big show of looking around to make sure no one was listening, then spoke quietly. "When you went trout fishin' with Andrea an' Dale, were you out far from shore?"

Carl nodded. "Yeah, we were out in the middle of the lake and we had to let our hooks sink way down deep into the water."

""Cause trout like colder water. Bass an' sunfish like it warmer, closer to shore. When you're fishin' off the dock and you fish with worms an' crawlers, the minute they hit the water, the sunnies come a swimmin' for em' as fast as they can, ain't that right?"

Carl nodded enthusiastically.

Daryl continued, "An' if there's a big ol' bass around, he approaches the bait with some caution. He'll look it over, swim 'round it a few times tryin' to decide if he thinks it's safe n' worth takin' a taste. Ever notice that?"

"Yes!" Carl was excited. That is exactly what had happened several times.

"But what happens before the big fish gets up the gumption to grab the bait?" Daryl asked.

"A sunfish comes along and eats it or grabs it and zooms away with it!" Carl answered excitedly.

"Exactly!" exclaimed Daryl.

Rick had come out onto the deck and was surprised to see Carl and Daryl in what was apparently a very important discussion, both leaning in towards each other, foreheads almost touching. Carl had a big smile on his face and was nodding at whatever Daryl was saying to him. Rick smiled and approached the table.

"Hey, Dad, Daryl's going to help me to catch something off the dock besides sunfish."

"Excellent." Rick replied. "I'll run in and get you a soda and grab us some chips, give you two a few more minutes to strategize."

Daryl smirked and Carl smiled, "Thanks, Dad."

Rick headed back towards the door with a smile on his face.

"So why do you think the sunnies is so bold?" Daryl asked Carl as they resumed their conversation.

Carl thought for a few seconds. "Because they're stupid?"

Daryl grinned. "Good guess and prolly part a the reason. Mainly its 'cause they're hungry. When you take a hook outta a sunnie, you ever notice how they got a lil' tiny mouth? Looks like a lil' letter 'o'. Now a sunnie can only eat what can fit through that lil' tiny mouth, an' its hard to find much food all small like that. They get a worm dangled in front of 'em an' they're on it. Now if you wanna catch somethin' asides sunnies, you gotta use bigger bait. Somethin' they can't get inta their lil' o-shaped mouths. Crawdads is great for catchin' bass an' trout an' the sunnies can't eat 'em. Oh, they'll try. They'll try their damnedest to get that big ol' crawdad inta their teeny lil' mouths and they'll try an' peck at it an' get all frustrated, but you'll never catch a sunnie on a crawdad, 'less it's a huge ass sunnie or you got a tiny little crawdad on your hook. Minnows an' frogs and mice is good bait for big bass, too, and you can even use small sunnies as bait for bigger fish."

"I think Maggie has a crawdad trap in the water over there." Carl pointed to a small flag attached to a board floating and bobbing where it was anchored to the trap in the water about ten feet from the side of the dock and in about three feet of water.

"I'm sure she won't mind if you take some of 'em." Daryl said, encouraging Carl to commit larceny.

"I'm going to grab a pail then and take just a couple of them." Carl said as he stood up. His eyes were bright and happy and for a second Daryl found himself envying the boy's childhood, which, even in the midst of the horrors of this new world, seemed far happier than his had ever been. "Thanks, Daryl!"

"No problem, kid."

Rick came back out onto the porch carrying a bag of Doritos and two bottles of Coke. He watched Carl run to the side of the deck and leap off onto the shore, then he turned his attention to Daryl and he frowned. Daryl was leaning forward in his chair, his arms resting on the patio table and his head resting on his folded arms. Rick tossed the Doritos onto the table and placed the two bottles of soda down gently. He opened his mouth to speak and Daryl cut him off.

"Don't you even say it." he said gruffly without looking at Rick.

"Say what?" Rick asked as he turned the cap on a bottle of Coors Light, the pressure being release from the bottle making a short and satisfying hissing noise.

"Don't you dare say 'are you okay?' 'cause if I hear that question one more time I'll go fuckin' off the deep end an' shoot the person that asked it."

Rick smiled. "Fair enough." He slid a beer across the table towards Daryl. "So," he said, and then took a swig from his bottle of beer. "What did you want to talk about?"

Daryl propped his head on his hands and looked at Rick. "'Bout leavin'. I started packin' up my truck today to leave. I'm gonna go north."

Rick was surprised and made no effort to conceal it. "Now? You want to leave now? By yourself? Why?" Rick thought that the worst was probably behind them all now. The hostile group was gone, Daryl was on the mend and they had enough food and water to last a long time. Daryl's room now had an exterior door on it so he wouldn't have to be bumping into the other members of the household whenever he left his room and Rick had hoped it had helped to lessen Daryl's social anxiety. He looked at Daryl and tapped his bottle of beer with his index finger. "Do you regret asking us to come here? Are you feeling crowded? Is it because I came down on you for being out in the woods? Is that it?"

"Holy Shit, Grimes, you ask a lot a questions." Daryl sat up and Rick was sure he saw him wince. Daryl started chewing on an already chewed down thumbnail. "I don't regret askin' y'all here. I toyaouyou, right from the start, this place's too nice for the likes a me. Its big enough for the group, has ever'thin' y'all need for a while. Ah jes' can't stay here is all. There's a couple bases in Maine. One in particular ah'd like to check out. Figure'd now is a good time to go, before winter hits. "

"Why can't you stay here?" Rick asked earnestly.

"I jes' can't. I got my reasons. Can't we jes' leave it at that?"

Rick stared intently at the other man. Daryl appeared to be more nervous than usual, on edge and it was obvious, to Rick anyway, that he had one hell of a headache. "No. No, we can't just leave it at that."

Daryl cracked open a bottle of beer and sighed. "Tough shit, I got no more to say an' I'm leavin' it at that." he snapped. He drank the beer down quickly and let loose with a loud belch.

Carl chuckled from where he waded in the water near Maggie's crawdad trap. Like many boys his age, he found gastric noises to be a great source of amusement.

Imaginary Merle was amused as well and chimed in, "'scuse the gas that had ta pass, from my mouth an' not my ass,"

'Simple things amuse simple minds.' Daryl thought.

"What can I do to convince you to stay?" Rick was saying, "We need you, Daryl. I need you. I'd be dead if you hadn't..."

"Fuckin' stop it! You don't need me an' I don't want to hear your bullshit! Now I have to go an' the sooner the better. I ain't askin' your permission. i just wanted to do the courtesy of lettin' you know." Daryl started to stand and Rick slid another beer over in front of him.

"I can't make you stay, but I can't promise that I won't try to." Rick said. "Have another beer with me. I'll ask Glenn to see about getting the HAM radio up and running. You're not planning on leaving today, are you? I mean, you can wait a day or two, right?"

Daryl settled back into his chair and opened the second beer. "I was hopin' to leave today," he said. "The sooner the better."

Rick studied Daryl as he drank his beer. Something wasn't right here. Rick had been a law officer long enough to be able to tell when someone was hiding something and he knew damned well that Daryl Dixon wasn't telling him the whole story as to why he suddenly wanted to head out for parts unknown. Rick had ignored this 'he's hiding something' feeling when he'd had it regarding Shane's behavior and it had caused a world of trouble. Shane had been hiding a lot and things might have turned out differently if Rick had confronted him about it right from the start. If only he had called Shane out and gotten everything out in the open instead of pretending nothing was wrong.

"Okay, Daryl. I owe you, we all do and I haven't done any too well at letting you know how much I appreciate you and how much I think the group needs you. I'm sorry about that. I was a fool. You're a better man than many I've known and I'm ashamed of myself for not treating you better than I have."

Daryl 'pffft'd' Rick and drank some more of his beer.

Rick continued. "But...I've gotta say this; you're not being completely honest with me, now, are you? You don't owe me shit, I'll give you that, but I can't help but be curious as to why the sudden rush to leave. Tell me whats really going on, Daryl."

Daryl finished his second beer and slammed it down on the table. He glared at Rick and then sighed. Fine. He wanted to know so fuckin' badly. He'd tell him. "Group ain't safe with me here. I'm a liability now. I gotta get away from y'all."

Rick's eyes got wide. "Are you bit?" he said quietly.

Daryl snorted. "Shit, no. I'd never come back if I was bit. How the fuck many times have I gotta say that?"

"Then why do you think you're a liability?" Rick asked. He cocked his head and Daryl rolled his eyes.

Sure, bring out the cocker spaniel eyes, Daryl thought. "'Cause Hershel says I'm bleedin' inside my head. Subdural hemorrhage he calls it. It ain't somethin' he can fix and it ain't likely to stop on it's own. Pressure's been buildin' up."

Rick groaned and ran his hand through his hair. He knew what a subdural hemorrhage was. "Shit, Daryl. I don't know what to say."

"Ain't nothin' to say. Shit happens, man. I jes' ended up bein' one a the universe's public toilets is all."

Rick had to smile at that analogy, and then he put his serious face back on and raised his eyebrows. "You can't be driving around with a subdural hemorrhage!"

Daryl laughed. "Why not? It ain't like I'm gonna black out an' take out a bus full a kids or hit a pedestrian. The sooner I leave, the farther away I'll be if somethin' happens an' the safer y'all will be."

Rick shook his head. "No, Daryl. Now I really think that you need to stay here. Maybe it will just stop bleeding on it's own. You never know! You can't be leaving in your condition and you've done so much for all of us. Please stay and let us look after you. Let us at least keep you comfortable."

Daryl raised his eyebrows. "My condition? I ain't fuckin' pregnant and you don't know what the hell you're talkin' 'bout, Grimes. I don' wanna drop dead unexpectedly here in the house an' come back an' hurt or kill someone. I _need_ to _leave_. Why can't you understand that?"

"You don't have to leave, Daryl. If we let everyone know whats going on..."

Daryl snorted. "Bullshit on that. I don't need everyone pityin' me . You're already lookin' at me with fuckin' pity in your eyes and I can't stand it. An' you're jes' one person! I'd rather take my chances on the road alone. Me an' Merle had talked 'bout headin' north before we joined up with the group."

Rick finished his second beer and started peeling the label off it with his fingernails. It was a nervous habit. "Okay, Daryl, but can we sit down and talk with Hershel before you leave? It would make me feel a lot better to be a bit more informed about whats going on with you," he raised his hands as if in defense as Daryl opened his mouth to speak, "even if it's none of my business, " he continued. Daryl shut his mouth. "And if I can't talk you into staying here, if you're hell bent on leaving, I'd like to help you load your truck. We'll set you up with a boatload of weapons and food. You don't know what you'll run into out there on your own and I'd want you to be prepared for anything."

Daryl scowled. "This ain't some big production. It's jes' me packin' and movin' on. Don't make a big deal outta it." He stood up and collected the empty beer bottles in both hands. "I would appreciate the help loadin' up the truck, so thanks." He headed for the door and called over his shoulder, "If you wanna talk to me with Hershel, I'll be in my room."

"Okay. I'll go get him. You can expect us shortly." Rick replied.

Daryl stalked to the door and pushed it open with his hip. He carried the empty bottles into the kitchen and placed them on the counter. He was just about to open the kitchen door onto the back porch when it opened and Carol stood there, holding a basket laden with carrots and radishes.

"Daryl!" she exclaimed with a surprised look on her face.

Daryl blushed. He hadn't been very nice to her the last time they'd spoken. "Hey, Carol." he said.

"I hear you're leaving us. "

Daryl ran his hand through his hair nervously. "Yeah. Guess word gets 'round fast."

Carol smiled and Daryl fidgeted.

"Be careful out there, Daryl," she said and she moved past him and into the kitchen, "And just remember," she said without looking back at him, "sometimes running away isn't the answer."

Daryl had an apology ready for Carol but it stuck in his throat. He kept his mouth shut and stepped out onto the porch, shutting the door behind him. Carol had totally caught him off guard with her response to the news of his departure. He only wished the others would be so nonchalant about it. It would make things a lot easier.

Daryl stepped into his room and sighed. Everything he'd packed into the truck was back in his room. The pillows were all arranged on his bed, his closet door was open and he could see the guitar cases in there, and all his button down shirts were now on hangers in there as well. He pulled one of his bureau drawers open. His jeans were back in the drawer, folded and neat. He made a face and cautiously opened the top drawer. All his boxers and boxer briefs were back in there in tidy stacks. Dammit. Did they have to handle his underwear?

Something on his bedside stand caught his attention and he walked over to it to get a closer look. A piece of pecan pie sat on a plate wrapped in plastic wrap with a fork next to it. There was a folded note on top of the piece of pie.

"What the hell?" he mumbled to himself as he picked up the note and unfolded it. It was brief and to the point and he smirked when he read it. This was quite a surprise and he was amused by how ridiculous it was. She was nuts and the last person he would expect this from. The note simply read:

Take me with you. - Andrea


	73. Chapter 73

There was a knock on Daryl's door ten minutes later and Rick announced that he and Hershel were there to talk to him. He unlocked the door and Rick slid the deadbolt open and he and Hershel entered the room.

Daryl had placed his luggage bag back on the bed and had taken his jeans out of the drawer and was in the process of packing. Again.

"Rick tells me you're making a trip north." Hershel said.

Daryl shoved a pair of jeans into the bag. "Yup. I'd like to get there before winter hits." He turned to face the two men and nodded towards Rick, "You wanted to talk, so talk." He motioned for Hershel to sit down in the chair and for Rick to sit on the bed and he sat down on the floor cross legged with his back leaning against one of his bureaus. Hershel's eyes were on him and he met the man's gaze. He wasn't sure what he read there this time which surprised him because Hershel was usually easy to read.

"I don't think making a road trip on your own is a very good idea, son." the older man said.

"You think it'd be better if I didn't go alone?" he asked, trying to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Hershel sighed. "What I'm saying is that you shouldn't go at all. Not yet. Your headaches will get worse if you just leave now and Maine is a long ways off. You have no idea what you'll run into or who you'll run into along your way. Do you really want to be alone on some highway when..."

"When what?" Daryl snapped. "Look, it don't matter where I am, so long as it ain't here." He glared at Hershel and then at Rick.

Rick rubbed the stubble on his chin, "Daryl, have you even thought this through?"

Daryl ignored him and turned to Hershel. "Okay, Doc, let's lay it out on the table. You're tellin' me the headaches 'll get worse and we already know the thing is fuckin' with my vision. So if I leave today an' the damned thing keeps bleedin' what then? Do I go bind? Forget who I am? Does my head explode?" he couldn't help but smile at the thought of his head bursting like some blood and brain filled balloon, then making 'fffffppppppttt' noises as it deflated and zoomed around the room only to land like an empty sack on the floor. Damned brain farts. He stifled a laugh and Hershel and Rick both looked at him with incredulous expressions on their face.

"What, you think this is funny?" Rick asked with amazement.

"Well, sorta." Daryl replied honestly.

"Son," Hershel said sternly, "There is nothing funny about this situation at all. I can't emphasize enough how much of a bad idea it is for you to attempt to drive to Maine at this time. I've been reading..."

"Really." Daryl interrupted. "It's a bad idear _at this time._" He stood up and started pacing, then sarcastically asked, "So tell me, when would be a good time to go? Tomorrow? Next week? Next month?"

Hershel watched Daryl as he walked the length of the room, turned, walked back, and repeated the action. He reminded Hershel of a caged tiger pacing in it's cage. Maybe Maggie hadn't been so crazy to come up with the nickname she had for the man. "Probably next week," he said. "You can go next week."

Both Rick and Daryl looked at Hershel with surprise.

"You've got to be kidding," Rick snorted and Daryl narrowed his eyes at him, then turned back to Hershel and asked, "Why next week?" as he started pacing again.

"I think we need to give the corticosteroids a chance to reduce the swelling. I'd also like to start you on Phenytoin. I came across it in the med room after I did some reading up on TBIs. It prevents seizures."

Daryl stopped pacing and looked at Hershel with wide eyes. "_Seizures_? I ain't had nothin' like that."

Hershel nodded slowly. "There's a high frequency of seizures following a subdural hematoma, but they can be controlled with medication. I'd like to get you started on Phenytoin now as a preventative, rather than later as a remedy."

Daryl raised his eyebrows. Did Hershel really think there was going to be a 'later'?

Rick looked hopefully at Hershel. "Is this something new?" he asked.

Hershel shrugged. "New to me. I was going to say a moment ago before I was _interrupted_," he said throwing Daryl a stern look, "I've been pouring over the Merck Manual and several medical publications in the office upstairs for the last several hours and I've learned a lot more about subdural hematomas and TBIs than I knew." The expression on his face darkened and he added, "There are some disturbing publications in that room regarding controlled brain function and experiments in addition to some very useful and informative ones."

"Well, Daryl?" Rick asked. "Would you consider letting Hershel try to help you out and just stay put for another week? Please?"

Daryl looked at Hershel hopefully and Hershel was touched to the core. The man was putting his trust in him and looking to him to help him to keep on living and breathing in this miserable messed up world.

"Sure, if it might help then why not? One week." Daryl agreed. "Providin' things stay the same or start to get better, but if things start to gettin' worse, I'm outta here."

"I'll do the best I can for you," Hershel said and he extended a hand to Daryl.

Daryl looked at Hershel's outstretched hand for a second, then reached out to take it. "You always have an' I'm mighty grateful," he said quietly.

Hershel reached into his pocket and pulled out two orange pill bottles. "Take one of each of these right now and then once a day. I'll be checking on you before I retire for the evening. Let me know immediately if your headaches get worse or if your symptoms intensify," he instructed as he pressed the bottles into Daryl's hand.

Daryl nodded and swallowed hard. The old man really cared about what happened to him and Daryl was appreciative and humbled that Hershel would actually give a flying rat's ass about what happened to backwoods trash like him. He couldn't understand it. "Why?" he asked quietly with downcast eyes. "Why do you go outta your way to try 'n help me?"

Hershel smiled warmly. "Keeping you alive has become my newest full time hobby." he joked. "But seriously, son, I've said before, your life is important. You're important to me and to this group and I've got to warn you, once you're on the mend and getting better, I'm going to do whatever I can to convince you to stay here and not to go running north."

"Same here," Rick added as he stood up. He smiled and said, "I'm going to see how many trophy fish my son has caught and try to think up a good story to tell Maggie when she finds out that he pilfered all the crawdads from her trap."

Hershel and Rick left Daryl's room and Daryl closed the door behind them, calling to them to be sure to slide the deadbolt over to lock the door from their side of it. He went into the bathroom and filled a glass with water and took the two pills as per Hershel's instructions.

* * *

Daryl walked out onto the porch and sat in the rocking chair, holding the plate with the piece of pie in it in one hand and the almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels in the other. He sat the bottle down on the floor next to him and unwrapped the piece of pie. He had left the fork on the bedside table and was about to get up to retrieve it, but then decided 'to hell with it' and tore into the sticky dessert with his fingers. He paused only a second to try to remember when he'd last washed his hands, then shrugged and plowed back into the pie. It was gone too soon and he mentally berated himself for wolfing it down so fast as he held the plate up and licked it off. He carried the empty plate and the plastic wrap across the porch and peeked in through the window of the kitchen door.

Carol's basket of vegetables was sitting on the kitchen island, but she was nowhere to be seen. The kitchen appeared to be empty and he opened the door quietly and stepped into the room. He washed his plate quickly and then dried it and put it away before opening the refrigerator and pulling out a bottle of Corona beer. He grabbed the garage key off the key holder and returned to his bedroom through the exterior door.

Daryl found one of his small empty backpacks on the upper shelf of his closet where Andrea or Maggie must have placed it after _unloading it from his truck, dammit_! He filled a two quart canteen with water in the bathroom and after making sure the cover was on it tightly, he put it in the backpack. He stomped out onto the porch and after scooping up the Jack Daniels bottle and depositing it into the backpack, he pulled the rag from his rear pocket and wrapped it around the Corona and stuck it in the pack as well. He shouldered the pack and started to walk quickly to the garage. He noticed that his headache had receded and was almost gone and he felt a small wave of relief wash over him. It was rather pleasant not to have that little man with the jackhammer in his head thumping away. This positive turn of events was marred when he noticed the hitch in his step as his left leg refused to move as fast or with as much agility as his right one, almost causing him to stumble once or twice. It was like he was almost limping. Well wasn't that special.

Daryl unlocked the garage and after pulling a pair of leather gloves from a cupboard stacked with several pairs and stuffing them into his backpack, he started looking through the back corner where the gardening tools, woodcutting tools and shovels hung from pegs on the wall. He grabbed a shovel and a pickax and slung them over his shoulder and left the garage without bothering to lock it. He'd be back to return the tools in a few hours anyway. He went through the gate and walked toward the little hidden meadow hidden behind the row of trees near the house.

* * *

Dozens of grasshoppers and crickets hopped out of his path as he walked through the tall grass and the daisies and black eyes Susan swayed in the breeze as if welcoming him with polite nods. It was a lovely afternoon, the sky was clear and the temperature was in the mid 70's which was much nicer than the heat the last several weeks had brought. He stopped walking when he reached the white quartz boulder and leaned the shovel and the pickaxe against it before he climbed up on top of it and surveyed the field around him.

It was a nice spot, but it would need to be brush hogged in order to keep the small saplings and shrubs trying to encroach upon the open area from taking over. He climbed down off of the rock and stowed his backpack close to the boulder in the shade after removing the work gloves from it and putting them on. He moved to what he considered the back of the rock; the side facing the woods and not the lake, and walked two paces from the rock before he planted the shovel in the ground and started digging. He stopped to take a break after forty five minutes of shoveling, with one interruption to use the pickaxe to break apart and move a large chunk of rock from the growing hole. He was glad that the stitches in his left forearm were holding up well and his headache still had not returned. Not yet, anyway, but the noticeable difference in the strength of the left and right sides of his body bothered him a lot.

He pulled his damp, sweaty shirt away from his chest where it had adhered itself and wiped the sweat off his brow. Daryl sat down in the grass and leaned against the rock as he pulled the bottle of Jack Daniels out of his backpack. He unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. He winced as the alcohol burned its way down his throat to his stomach. He pondered whether or not he should take another pull from the bottle, then decided what the hell.

For a second he considered the potential for a reaction between the alcohol and the new drugs Hershel had given him. Hershel hadn't said _not _to drink while taking them and of course, he hadn't asked about it. Aw, hell, it wasn't like there was a lot of the booze left in the bottle anyway; surely a little wouldn't do any harm. He tilted the bottle up and finished the whiskey and then pulled the water canteen from the pack and drank from it. He stood up and brushed off his hands before he put his gloves back on and reached for the shovel again.

Daryl started to sweat heavily after another hour of digging and he stopped and wiped his arm across his forehead, wincing when he pressed a bit too hard against the stitches there. He climbed out of the hole and pulled his sweat soaked t-shirt off over his head and spread it out on the large white rock, hoping it would dry in the sun. His hair was wet and matted with sweat and the waistband in the back of his boxer briefs was damp with sweat as well. The brain fart showed up without warning. 'Experience superior comfort and support! Try new Fruit of the Loom boxer briefs! Guaranteed not to ride up into your sweaty ass crack while you shovel dirt!' Daryl sighed and continued to shovel. Did other people have these random thoughts pop out and disappear like...like a ...

"Fart?" finished Imaginary Merle. "No, lil' brother. Ah'm 'fraid you're the only crazy asshole in a world that does 'at." A maniacal Imaginary Merle laugh followed.

* * *

Daryl kept digging until the hole was chest deep. He tossed the pickaxe and the shovel on the ground next to the hole and hauled himself up and out of it. He had taken off his gloves and was slapping them against his jeans to remove the loose dirt on them when he saw Andrea come around the line of trees bordering the meadow.

She saw him and waved.

"Shit," he mumbled underneath his breath as he grabbed his shirt off the rock and pulled it on over his head. It was damp and uncomfortable but it was preferable to the embarrassment he'd experience if Andrea started running her eyes over his scars.

Andrea walked quickly towards him, her blonde hair bouncing as she moved through the tall grass and flowers. She had a canvas shopping bag over her left shoulder and she smiled as she approached Daryl. "I saw you over here while I was out in the canoe," she explained as she got closer.

Daryl bent down and picked up the shovel and the pickaxe and leaned them against the white boulder. "Yeah?" he said.

"Yeah. What are you doing?" Andrea asked as she slid the bag off her good shoulder. Clinking noises like glasses bumping up against each other came from it as she placed it on the ground.

"Diggin'" Daryl answered.

Andrea frowned and looked at the hole in the ground. It was about seven feet long, three feet wide and four feet deep. "Whats that?" she asked as she pointed to it.

Daryl looked at where she pointed and then looked at her with an 'are you a moron?' smirk on his face and raised his eyebrows. "A hole." he said slowly as if speaking to someone with a diminished mental capacity..

Andrea rolled her eyes. "Well duh," she said. "It looks like a grave. Why are you digging a grave?"

Daryl leaned back against the rock and said, "I din't say it was a grave, Blondie."

"Stop calling me that. What is it then? And if you say 'a hole' again, I'm going to kick you in the shins."

Daryl smiled. "Ever see 'Dances with Wolves'?" he asked her.

Andrea nodded. "Yes, a long long time ago, but what does that have to do with this hole?"

Daryl crossed his arms as he leaned back against the big rock. "Remember how Dunbar buried the cache of weapons an' later he an' Otter go back in the rain to get 'em when the Pawnee are gonna attack? Well, I thought it might be a good idear to have some weapons stored somewhere besides in the house. You know, for backup."

Andrea raised her eyebrows and shrugged. It sounded reasonable. Sort of. She walked closer to the hole and peered into it. "Are you supposed to be doing this kind of work in your..."

"You jes' shut that pretty lil' mouth a yours right now." Daryl growled. "I ain't a fuckin' invalid an ain't nobody told me I couldn't be out diggin' a hole if I damned well felt like it."

Andrea smiled and walked up to where Daryl stood against the rock. She stopped about a foot in front of him and saw his blue eyes dart around nervously as if he was looking for an escape route. "You think I have a 'pretty lil' mouth'?" she asked as she looked up at him.

He swallowed and looked away from her and over to the tree line near the woods and mumbled, "I was sure as hell mistakin' 'bout the 'lil'' part."

Andrea poked her finger into his chest. "Daryl Dixon! Are you insinuating that I have a big mouth?"

Daryl looked at her and smiled. She was trying to look like she was mad, but her eyes had a gleam in them. "I ain't insinutatin' nothin'," he replied. "Here, I'll say it straight out; you got a big mouth, Blondie."

Andrea threw up her hands and turned away from him. "Fine. Be that way. I guess I'll just drink that nice cold six pack I brought out here to share with you all by myself." She picked up the bag she'd brought with her.

That caught Daryl by surprise. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! You brought beer out to share with _me_?" he asked, bewildered.

"Yes, I did and I even put it in the freezer for ten minutes right before I came out here so it would be nice and cold. It's too bad you insulted me. Now it's no beers for you and six for me."

Daryl laughed. "Oh, I'd like to see you drink down a six pack." He reached for his backpack and pulled the Corona out of it. It was warm, but he didn't care. He cracked the seal and put the cover in his backpack.

Andrea turned and looked at him. "You think I can't drink a six pack of beer by myself?" she asked.

Daryl grinned. "Oh, I'm sure you can, but you'd be shitfaced drunk when you were done. Hell, I'd bet you'd be shitfaced drunk on three of 'em."

Andrea stared at him. Damn, even with his face all bruised and stitched up like Frankenstein, he was handsome. His blue eyes expressed his amusement and he was grinning at her, giving her a rare glimpse of those straight white teeth of his. The well defined muscles in his arms glistened with sweat and his hair was sweaty and messy. Why did she find that so attractive? "You wanna bet on that, Tiger?"

"Don' call me that an yeah, i'd love to bet on that." Daryl said and he tilted up his bottle of beer and guzzled the whole thing. He wiped his mouth when he was finished and belched.

Andrea crinkled her nose. "That's disgusting." she complained.

"Oh, so sorry to have offended you, your majesty. Pardon moi." Daryl drawled sarcastically. "Some of you high falootin' fancy schmancy women act like you never burped er farted in your lives. Prolly why you're all so damned uptight. Holdin' that stuff in for so long's bound to cause problems."

Andrea didn't know whether to be offended or amused, so she went with amused. "Fine, you can belch all you want while we're drinking, but if you fart, I'm leaving." she warned.

Daryl grinned. "I'd never do that in the presence of a lady," he said cheerfully. "An' maybe I won't in front a you, either."

Andrea tried to keep a straight face, but she couldn't and she dissolved into a fit of giggles. "You're awful!" she exclaimed. She pulled herself up onto the quartz boulder with her bag and patted a spot next to her on it. "Come on up here and sit down with me," she said with a smile.

Daryl climbed up onto the rock and sat down a foot from her and stretched his legs.

"I'll be nice and share today. We can bet some other time," she said as she reached into her bag. She brought out two bottles of Coors beer and handed one to him.

He was surprised at how cold it was. Oh, this was going to taste so good. He opened his and heard Andrea open hers at the same time.

Andrea leaned over and bumped him on his right shoulder with her left one before he could bring the bottle up to his lips. "Lets see who can finish their beer first." she challenged.

"But I won't enjoy it as much if I drink it fast." Daryl complained.

Andrea's eyes grew wide and she smacked Daryl on the arm. "What are you talking about? You just guzzled the one you had!"

"Yeah, I know," he agreed. "An' now I'm regettin' it 'cause I didn't enjoy it as much as I coulda."

Andrea looked at him and he pouted and she giggled.

"Okay," he said. "One, two, three, go!"

They both brought the cold bottles of beer to their lips and Andrea gulped hers down as fast as she could. The cold liquid felt refreshing as it rushed down her throat and she brought the empty bottle down a second sooner than Daryl brought his down.

"Well shit, Blondie, you are fast!" Daryl exclaimed.

Andrea smiled. "Wanna make this more interesting?" she asked.

Daryl raised an eyebrow. "More interestin', huh? Whatcha have in mind?"

"This," Andrea said and she reached into her bag and pulled out a bottle and held it out for Daryl to see.

Daryl snickered. "Shit girl, ya got Yukon Jack? Yer gonna be crawlin' back to the house if you start in with that stuff. That there is some powerful shit."

Andrea raised her hand in a 'stop' motion and reached back into her bag and pulled out a folded hand towel. She unfolded it and held up two shot glasses she'd wrapped in it to keep them from breaking and raised her eyebrows. "Bet I can throw a shot and chase it faster than you can." she challenged.

Daryl laughed and shook his head. "You're on, girly."

Andrea poured two shots of Yukon Jack and then tucked the bottle safely back in the bag. She handed Daryl one of the shots and another beer.

"Your turn to call it" Daryl said.

"Okay, ready?"

Daryl nodded.

Andrea held her shot glass up. "One, two, three, go!"

The two of them threw their shots down their throats and then cracked their beers open and chugged them down. Andrea finished first again.

Daryl watched as Andrea pulled the bottle of Yukon Jack back out of the bag and poured two more shots. He licked his lips. "Gotta ask you 'bout somethin'," he said.

Andrea smiled. "Let me guess. You want my pecan pie recipe."

"No. I wanna know why you'd want to come with me when I leave, or was that note jes' a joke?"

Andrea handed Daryl one of the full shot glasses and met his blue eyes with her blue green ones. "I'm totally serious. If you're going to leave, I want to go with you. I have nothing to keep me here. Amy is gone and besides, I like to travel."

Daryl snorted and almost spilled his shot of Yukon Jack. "So that's why you wanna come along? You like to travel? I ain't much of a tour guide, Cinderella, an' it's gonna be a dangerous trip. Might not even make it to Maine. Gonna run into lots a walkers and might run inta some other survivors as well an' they might not be any too friendly. Truck might break down, could run outta supplies, all sorts a shit could happen." He held his shot glass out to her before she could answer and counted off, "One, two, three, go!"

They both threw their shots down and Andrea finished first again. She winced and smacked her lips. "Wooo, that stuff burns going down," she said. "And I already know all that and I don't care. It can't be any worse than it was being on the road with everyone else." They downed three more shots together with Andrea finishing hers before Daryl all three times. She picked up the conversation about going north with him up again. "I think it would be kind of cool. I'm tough, I'm a good shot and I can pull my own weight. I wouldn't be in your way and I think you'd find that I'd be a big help and good company while we're on the road." She placed Daryl's shot glass next to hers and filled them both and then turned to pull two more bottles of beer out of her bag.

"Bullshit on that," Daryl said rather loudly. "I can look after maself an' I'm better on my own. You really would just be in the way."

"I would not!" Andrea retorted as she passed Daryl one of the bottles of beer. "Chaser this time, okay?"

Daryl nodded. "Your turn to count it down, Blondie."

Andrea smiled and took the top off her beer and Daryl uncapped his as well. "One, two, three, _go_!"

The shots were knocked back in unison and Daryl emptied his beer a good two seconds before Andrea did.

"Ha, ha and ha!" he said as he waggled his head side to side at her with each 'ha'.

"I let you win!" Andrea yelled. "Because….because…" she trailed off, trying to think of a reason. Wow, was she getting piss drunk already?

"Because you're full a shit!" Daryl announced and he picked up the bottle of Yukon Jack and took a good long drink from it.

Andrea scowled and yanked the bottle out of his hand. "Hey! That's …that's cheating or something!"

Daryl threw his head back and laughed. "Aww…the lawyer thinks I'm bein' a dirty cheat! Ain't that sumthin'!"

Andrea started laughing, too, and took a drink from the bottle, too.

"Oh, here it comes," Daryl said suddenly and he started to get to his feet. "'S gonna be a beauty, I can tell!" He stood up and moved up to the highest point on the rock.

Andrea watched as he stood tall and straight and looked out towards the lake. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked, stifling a giggle.

He swayed slightly, held his hand up as if for silence and then smirked and winked at her before returning his gaze out over the lake. He fisted his hands and pounded them against his chest, and Andrea immediately thought of Tarzan and then Tarzan let loose with the loudest and longest belch she thought she had ever heard.

It echoed across the lake and Andrea clapped and whistled when he was finished. Daryl bowed to the left and then to the right, thanking his imaginary audience for their enthusiastic response and plunked himself down beside her. "That's quite some talent you've got there." she told him.

Maggie stuck her head out of one of the second floor windows at the house. The meadow was shielded from view by a row of trees, and no one at the house could begin to hear Daryl and Andrea as they spoke to each other. Of course, Daryl's power belch was a different story. "_That was disgusting, Dixon_!" Maggie shouted from the window in the direction of the meadow. "You almost made poor Lori vomit!"

"Wan't me!" Daryl shouted back. "_Andrea_ did it!"

Andrea slapped his shoulder playfully. "You are such a jerk!" she cried. "And I think you're drunk."

Daryl smiled lazily at her. Damn, she was pretty. "I ain't anywhere near drunk. An you gotta stop belchin' like that, you might call in walkers if there's any aroun', you pig."

Andrea's eyes widened along with her smile and she smacked Daryl's shoulder again. "You are so bad, Daryl Dixon!" she scolded and then she was laughing and he was laughing. "See? You are too drunk!"

"Nope, I ain't. I can prove it to you."

Andrea looked at him skeptically and nodded. "Sure you can. Okay, Mr. Dixon, court is now in session. Show me evidence that you're not drunk."

Daryl wagged a finger at her. "Nuh uh...innocent 'til proven guilty, Ms. Fancy Pants Attorney." He reminded her. He closed his eyes and recited, "I'm not the fig plucker, I'm the fig plucker's son, an' I'll pluck figs 'til the fig pluckin's done. See? I'm totally sober."

"That doesn't prove anything, " Andrea snorted.

Daryl snatched the bottle of Yukon Jack and swallowed another mouthful of it. "'Course it does. It proves I ain't drunk. You know who's drunk though?" he asked and he pointed his finger at her and moved it closer to her until it touched her nose. "Beeep!" he said, "You are!"

They passed the bottle back and forth until it was empty and polished off the last two beers as well.

The sun was starting to set and Daryl slid down and sat on the grass with his back against the white boulder to watch the sunset as it painted vivid colors across the sky to the west. Andrea slid down the rock and sat down next to him.

Daryl had leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his legs and was resting his chin on his knees as he gazed at the horizon. His head was spinning and he knew he was pickled, but even in his drunken state he could still appreciate a beautiful sunset.

Andrea looked to see what had the redneck so mesmerized. She wasn't sure if it was because she was loaded or because she usually didn't notice things like this, but the sunset was unusually spectacular and the sight of it took her breath away. The sky directly above the horizon was a bright florescent pink which reflected off the bottoms of the swirly purple and blue clouds hanging in the western sky. The pink was streaked with shades of orange and yellow, and the colors intensified as the sun started it's descent below the horizon. Purple, blue, pink, orange and yellow swirls and patches grew brighter and then started to fade.

"Wow," Andrea said under her breath. "That's just...beautiful."

Daryl glanced over at her, then got unsteadily to his feet. He quietly walked over to where he had left the shovel, the pickaxe and the gloves, staggering a bit to the left and then to the right. He grabbed the tools and leaned on the pickaxe to steady himself.

Andrea watched all of this with amusement, until she tried to stand up and fell on her ass.

Daryl swayed as he put the empty bottles into his own backpack and he almost went over sideways when he swung it up over his shoulder.

Andrea laughed at Daryl's close call and Daryl narrowed his eyes at her. "Whatcha laughin' at? Least I can stand up, Blondie."

Andrea giggled. "I can stand up just fine. Watch this!" she said boldly and she stood up quickly. Her feet were not paying attention to her wishes and she stumbled backward and landed on her butt again.

Daryl guffawed, and staggered over to where she sat in the grass with a bewildered look on her face. He steadied himself by leaning against the pickaxe and put a hand out to her. "Upsey daisy, Blondie. We don't want you bruisin' that nice ass a yours."

Andrea giggled and sat on her hands. "You think I have a nice ass, Daryl?"

Daryl rolled his eyes at her as he reached down to grab her arm. "Man'd have to be blind not to think you got a great ass." He licked his lips and added, "Your rack ain't too shabby neither." for good measure. He never would have said these things if he'd been sober, but Drunk Daryl was bolder, louder and much more reckless than regular old Daryl was.

Andrea smiled up at Daryl and giggled. "My ass got promoted from nice to great? And here I thought you never even noticed me."

Daryl had a gnawing feeling that he should be feeling embarrassed, but he didn't. Not at all. "'CourseI noticed. You're a gorgeous woman. You should hear Chinaman go on an' on about how pretty you are. I finally had to tell 'im to shut up."

Andrea was looking at Daryl with wonder. "You…you think I'm gorgeous?"

Daryl blushed and straightened up. His mouth had been running again while his brain wasn't engaged. He looked away and chewed on his lower lip. What the hell had he just done? He felt Andrea tug on his hand.

"Daryl. Answer me!"

Daryl grasped her hand and started to pull her into a standing position but she stumbled as she tried to bring up her right knee and fell back on her ass for the third time. She still had a grip on Daryl's right arm and he lost his balance as the pickaxe toppled over and he fell down right on top of her. He planted a hand on each side of Andrea's shoulders and pushed, bracing himself on his arms so his weight wouldn't be on her. He looked down at her through half closed eyes as she lay beneath him, looking up at him. Damn. Had he hurt her? He wasn't a big man, but he knew that even as thin as he'd gotten he still outweighed Andrea by quite a bit. "I'm sorry," he half spoke/half whispered to her. "Did I crush you? Are you okay?"

Andrea smiled at him as her blue green eyes looked deep into his sky blue ones and she brought her arms up, placed her hands around the back of his neck and pulled him down roughly, crashing her lips into his.

He pulled away from her, his eyes wide and confusion written all over his face. "What...what are you.." he couldn't find the words he was looking for.

Andrea sat up and gave him a shove as he sat there on his knees and he lost his balance and toppled over onto his side. He rolled onto his back and was pulling himself into a sitting position when Andrea straddled him and sat down on his legs, facing him. She clasped her hands together behind his neck and pulled him in closer and kissed him again. She felt him tense up as she pressed her lips against his.

"What the hell do you think you're doin'?" Daryl hissed.

Andrea smiled at him and said, "Well duh. I'm kissing you."

Andrea breathed heavily as she pulled away from him and then planted her hands on his chest and shoved him down onto his back in the grass.

He was too drunk to resist much. "Don't Blondie," he whispered to her as she buried her face into his neck and he felt her teeth tug at his earlobe. "Please. You don't really want me. 's jes' the booze talkin'. You keep on and you're so gonna regret it when you sober up."

She planted her hands on his shoulders and pushed, pinning him to the ground and leaned forward until the tip of her nose touched the tip of his and then she smiled as her laughing blue green eyes met his shocked blue ones. "Shut up, Dixon," she growled. "and kiss me."


	74. Chapter 74

**Sorry about the pokey update. Lots of thing going on around here in real life. I know where this story is going and how it will end, I'm just having a hard time getting there right now. (Blame it on a huge attack of the brain farts) Hopefully my brain will unfreeze and things will start flowing again. As always, thanks for reading and reviewing. **

Andrea wanted him to kiss her? What the hell was he going to do? Daryl wanted to kiss her, he wanted to do more than that but obviously Andrea was drunker than he had thought. She would never be doing this if she was sober, he was sure of it. Hell, if he was sober, he wouldn't be letting her touch him.

Andrea gave Daryl about ten seconds to response to her request. Request? Andrea gave Daryl about ten seconds to respond to her _demand_ and then she was taking the initiative, pressing her mouth against his, her tongue requesting entrance to his mouth as it flickered across his teeth.

Daryl gave in to her full ,sweet lips. She pulled away for a second, and then kissed a path down his neck and latched onto it, sucking hard with her mouth. Sumbitch! Was she giving him a hickey? He shifted beneath her and then she was kissing a path back up his neck, over his chin and back to his mouth. Her hair fell against his neck and tickled the sides of his face as she pressed her lips to his again.

"Stoph" he managed to say around the lips pushing against and nibbling on his and he tried to wriggle out from underneath her. That proved to be counterproductive as Andrea took his wriggling as an invitation to grind her hips against him and he gasped as his body instantly responded to the unexpected pressure against his groin. Daryl groaned and he grasped Andrea's arms, being careful not to touch her wounded shoulder. "We ain't gonna do this," he said after a deep breath and he slowly pushed Andrea away from him as he pulled himself into a sitting position.

Andrea was taken completely by surprise when Daryl slammed on the brakes and she plunked herself down in the grass wordlessly. She was very disappointed. Very.

Daryl looked at her for a second and then looked away. The hurt look on her face puzzled him. It certainly wasn't the icy glare he expected.

Andrea looked down and concentrated on a piece of grass she started twisting between the fingers of her left hand. "I thought you liked me." she said. She was mortified. Why did Daryl push her away? Had she been too pushy? Did she say something that offended him? Was her breath bad? She chanced a glance at him.

His eyes were downcast and his she could see his cheeks flushing red. "I do like you, that's why I ain't gonna be your big 'mornin' after' regret. You know damned well you wouldn't look at me twice if'n ya weren't fallin' down shitfaced drunk."

Andrea continued to twirl the grass in her fingers, ripping some of it up by the roots. "Daryl, that isn't true. I know exactly what I'm doing and I'm not going to regret anything." she explained. "This isn't something random that I'm just deciding to act on at the spur of the moment." she continued, "I really like you, Daryl, and I've been trying to figure out how to get closer to you for a while." She reached her hand over and ran a finger across his bottom lip.

He sucked in a breath and jerked his head away from her touch. "Yeah," he said and Andrea thought he almost sounded bitter. "'cause lawyers like you was _always_ hangin' out with good for nothin' white trash like me afore the shit hit the fan." He met her eyes with his and continued, "You're drunk, Andrea an' I'm savin' ya from bein' embarrassed tomorrow. Believe me, you'll thank me for it later."

"Daryl, I would not be embarrassed and you are not good for nothing white trash!" Andrea exclaimed.

"Am so," Daryl mumbled as he struggled to get to his feet. He swayed unsteadily and looked down at Andrea as she sat in the grass, legs stretched out now and crossed at her ankles. She had great legs. "I'm just a nobody. A fuckin' ugly, worthless nobody. I think you're a beautiful woman," he said to her, " "an you know what they say. 'Beauty is only skin deep but ugly goes clear to the bone.' I respect you, even if ya did almost blow my head off, n' as much as I'd love to throw you down right now an' fuck the bejeesus out a you, it ain't gonna happen." His head was spinning and the tunnel vision in his right eye had taken a turn for the worse and now he could see only foggy shadows of images with it. He fumbled around for the shovel and the pickaxe as Andrea got to her feet.

"So you don't want to fool around with me? Seriously?" Andrea asked incredulously.

"Din't say I din't wan' ta, said I weren't gonna," he grumbled as he hoisted the pickaxe and the shovel over his shoulder. He turned to look at her again and leaned towards her. "'Specially not when you're drunk. You claim ya like me? Then come to me with the same offer when we're not both shitfaced drunk. You know that ain't never gonna happen, don't you. 'Cause when yer sober you find me repulsive. When I'm sober I don't want nobody to touch me."

Andrea grabbed his right arm. "I'm not that drunk and even if I was when I'm cold sober I can guarantee you, I'll still want you. You just better be ready for me, because I won't be backing down, whether you like to be touched or not." she warned. She reached out and held his face gently between her two hands and leaned in and kissed him firmly on the lips again before he could even process what she was doing. She smiled and said, "I want you Daryl, I want my hands and my mouth all over your body and I want your hands and especially your mouth all over mine and I _always_ get what I want. Eventually." She lowered her hands and brushed one across his ass and gave it a hard pinch.

Daryl almost dropped the shovel and the pick. "Shit! Cripes, Blondie, that hurt!"

"Always," Andrea repeated and she gave him a seductive smile as she sauntered by him. She bent over to pick up her bag, giving him a long and up close and personal look at her ass, and then threw the bag over her good shoulder and walked toward the house, swinging her hips as she went. "I'll see you in your room one of these days sooner than later," she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Daryl watched her go. It was an impressive sight even if one of his eyes wasn't seeing things very clearly. He waited a moment until he had composed himself and allowed his body to calm down a bit. Part of him wanted to run after her even though he knew it would be a huge mistake. It was the alcohol making her this way. He wasn't himself either. It was the booze relaxing him enough so he didn't instinctively haul off and pop her one in the face when she'd started running her hands over him. Why the hell did everyone always want to be fucking touching him? He needed to get the hell out of this house and away from these women who messed up his head.

He limped through the meadow with the pickaxe and the shovel resting on his left shoulder and his backpack slung over his right. He was feeling dizzier than he had and he knew he was just about as shitfaced as he could get. The bottles in the backpack clanged and clinked as they bumped against each other with each jerky step Daryl took. He staggered a few times and almost fell over, which caused him to cuss quietly to himself. Twilight welcomed the stars to the evening sky as he made his way through the gate. When he reached the garage's side door, he pulled the work gloves from where they hung out of his back pocket and slapped them against each other and against his legs, trying to remove as much dirt as he could from them. He grabbed the door handle and was surprised by how weak the grip in his left hand was. Daryl entered the garage and staggered to the tool area, increasingly aware of how much weaker his left leg seemed to be than his right. He hung the shovel and the pickaxe up in their designated spots and stuck each glove on a peg. 'That ain't where they go', popped into his head, but he pushed the thought away. It is tonight.

Daryl was hit with a wave of dizziness and his left leg gave out beneath him. He grabbed for the tool shelf as he lost his balance and holding it tightly, he was able to support and steady himself. "Well fuck," he mumbled, and then he giggled. Jack Daniels, Yukon Jack, Corona and Coors. What the hell did he expect? But he had been walking just fine a second ago! Okay, he'd swayed a little and maybe almost tumbled over once or twice. What was so unusual about that? He was drunk! The dizziness intensified and he sank to his knees on the cement floor. His head was spinning and he was suddenly hit by a wave of nausea. Shit, was he going to puke? Had he really had that much to drink? He tried to remember. A Corona, three Coors, half a bottle of Yukon Jack and a third of a bottle of Jack Daniels. Yes, yes he had. He swallowed and closed his eyes. Maybe he'd pass out and choke to death on his own vomit like Bon Scott had.

"An' 'at sucked 'cause he really was a better singer 'n Brian Johnson," he said to himself. His throat was dry and he was suddenly aware of the aches and pain in his muscles and his back. Shoveling was hard work, he told himself. What he wouldn't give for one of Maggie's back-rubs right about now. He lost himself in the memory of Maggie's agile hands kneading and massaging his back and shoulders. For someone who hated to be touched, he sure liked the feel of her hands on him. He didn't even realize he had toppled over onto his right side until he felt his right arm resting against the cool cement and the right side of his face resting on his right arm. He smiled a half smile and made a half snort/half laugh sort of noise. Fuck, he was drunk. Fall down shitfaced drunk.

"Lookit me! I'm fuckin' loaded," he said out loud to no one. That was followed by giggles. He then thought of Andrea who said she wanted him and that she wasn't going to be backing down next time. This thought prompted a whole new flurry of giggles. Andrea wanted a piece of him. A very specific piece. Was she in his room right now, reclining on that big bed of his, just waiting for him to waltz in, whip off his clothes and dive into bed with her? He doubted it. Even a little bit of sobering up would make her realize what a terrible idea it was. That was okay. She was way too good for him and he was better off avoiding getting too close to anyone else, anyway. He already cared more than he should for the members of the group. He cared _a lot_ more than he should for one in particular.

He yawned. The cool cement floor swayed beneath his body and he shifted slightly back and forth as it rocked. "I feel the earth move under my feet," he sang to himself. But it wasn't his feet the earth was moving under. But it was. His feet and his legs and his arms and his whole body. "My whole miserable messed up drunk body," he mumbled to himself. He looked around for a few seconds. Everything was blurry. He hadn't bothered to turn the lights on in the garage when he'd come in there. Had he remembered to close the gate? He decided that he'd better check. If he hadn't and a walker got into the back yard it would be his fault. Damn, why was he always fucking things up? He tried to pull himself into a sitting position, but he didn't have the strength to do it. Well, this wasn't so bad. Now why had he wanted to sit up again? Had he forgotten to do something?

The floor was cool against his body and he slowly and with a lot of effort rolled himself onto his back. He had a vague idea that he wasn't supposed to be on his back for some reason, but he couldn't remember what the reason was. He sighed and glanced over at the tools hanging on the wall and he realized he was completely unarmed. He didn't even have his knife on him. He would have found that scary if he didn't find it so amusing. He started to laugh quietly to himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid Daryl. He could always grab a shovel off the wall if something or someone came in to attack him. Damn, he was so, so very tired. It must have been all that digging that had worn him out. He decided that he was comfortable enough where he was so why bother to try to get to his feet and to go to the house? He'd just close his eyes and go to sleep. He yawned and closed his eyes and his mind started to drift as his tired body relaxed.

* * *

Andrea had slipped into the house unnoticed and had made it half way down the second floor hallway towards her room when Maggie stepped right out in front of her from the room she shared with Glenn. Andrea jumped and let loose a little shriek which made Maggie jump.

Maggie's eyes were wide with surprise but she quickly relaxed when she saw Andrea. "Geesh, girl, you scared the heck out of me!" she said with a smile on her face. "Did you have fun hanging out with Daryl the Disgusting, King of the Gastic Outbust?"

"Yes, I sure did. Now if you'll excuse me," Andrea said hurriedly as she tried to get past Maggie as quickly as she could.

Maggie crinkled her nose and reached out and grabbed Andrea's left arm. "Wait just a minute!" Maggie sniffed around Andrea's face. "Damn, girl, you reek of alcohol! Were you and Daryl _drinking_?"

Andrea smiled. "Maybe a little," she confessed.

Maggie narrowed her eyes at Andrea. "A little, huh? Okay. Repeat after me, I'm not the fig plucker, I'm the fig plucker's son,"

Andrea rolled her eyes. "I'm not the pig fucker I'm the pig fucker's son." She realized what she had said and slapped a hand over her mouth.

Maggie laughed and pointed at her. "Busted!" she announced.

Andrea got huffy. "Oh, come on, most people can't say that right when they're sober! Just because I'm not doesn't..." She slapped her hand over her mouth again.

"Ah ha!" Maggie cried triumphantly, "So you admit that you're not sober! A worried look suddenly spread across her face. "Andrea! You didn't take Percocet today did you?"

"Of course not," Andrea replied, pulling away from Maggie and heading toward her room. "I'm not that stupid."

Maggie followed Andrea down the hall. "I didn't mean to imply you were. So where is Daryl and... oh my gosh, is he drunk, too? Did you two get loaded together?"

Andrea turned to face Maggie. She smiled and waggled her eyebrows. "Shhhhh…," she said after looking around to make sure no one else was listening, "I got him rip roarin' drunk and I made a move on him. I kissed him. I'm sober as an AA meeting leader compared to him. Now I'm thinking that I might change into something more comfortable and surprise him in his room later. I'm going to spend the night with him. Can you imagine? I'm so excited about this!" She grinned and winked at Maggie. "I'll try to keep the noise down. No promises, though. It's been a long time."

Maggie wanted to make some crack about Andrea's sexcapades with Shane not so long ago, but instead she blurted out. "Daryl's still healing, so you can't be too…..rough with him." She smacked her palm against her forehead. "Damn I need to change his bandages!" she sputtered. "They haven't been changed yet today."

"That's perfect," Andrea purred, "you can come and let me know when you're finished and then I'll go to his room. He was going to put a few things in the garage and probably shower, so I should have plenty of time to get prettied up for him."

* * *

Maggie stood in the hallway and watched Andrea disappear into her room. Andrea had kissed Daryl? She was going to spend the night with him? She was going to sleep with him (and not in the non-sexual way she had shared a bed with him twice)? She sighed as she turned and walked back to the bathroom, her original destination when she had run into Andrea in the hall. Her mind raced as she undressed and started the water in the shower. So Daryl and Andrea. Andrea had had her eye on Daryl for a little while now so of course she was excited for her. Wasn't she? So why did the thought of Daryl and Andrea rolling around together in Daryl's bed make her feel sick to her stomach? Was she jealous? She pondered the possibility as she washed her hair. Why did she keep thinking about that kiss Daryl had given her? That hot, passionate toe curling kiss? Just thinking about it made her feel guilty. She loved Glenn, dammit. Glenn had never kissed her like that. She would have to teach him a thing or two about kissing, she decided.

She met Andrea in the hallway on her way from the bathroom to her room.

Andrea grinned at Maggie. "I decided I'd take a shower before my big date tonight." she announced as she passed by Maggie and entered the bathroom. "If Daryl's taking one, I should, too." Maggie smiled to herself. Up until a couple of weeks ago, Daryl didn't seem all too interested it bathing or showering at all. It was funny how things changed.

* * *

Maggie made her way down the stairs. She was going to change Daryl's dressing. In a few more days the wound would be shallow enough to be stitched closed and then she wouldn't have to visit Daryl's room on a daily basis. She found that to be a sad thing. Maggie could hear Carol, Glenn, Dale and Carl talking and laughing and banging around in the kitchen. The enticing smell of something cooking (was it ham? It smelled like ham) permeated the air and Maggie smiled. Dinner smelled really good. She stood outside of Daryl's door and knocked. There was no answer. "Daryl, are you in there?" she asked loudly through the door. If he was as blitzed as Andrea had suggested, it wasn't improbable that he had crawled up onto his bed and passed out once he got to his room. She slid the dead bolt over and turned the door handle. The door was locked from the inside, too. Maggie sighed. She'd have to try the exterior door. She turned and headed for the kitchen.

* * *

A chorus of 'hi's' greeted her as she entered the room. Glenn and Dale were stationed at the center island, Glenn was ripping up lettuce and Dale was slicing carrots and tomatoes. Carol glanced at Maggie and then turned her attention back to Carl who was rolling out biscuit dough on the flour covered granite counter. "You don't want to handle it too much or the biscuits won't be moist and flakey," she said to him.

Glenn left his lettuce ripping duties for a minute and gave Maggie a hug. "You smell nice," he murmured into her ear. Her hair was still damp from her shower and it smelled like flowers. She had sprinkled a bit of cologne behind her ears and at the base of her neck and Glenn inhaled deeply. "Really nice," he added. He gave her a quick kiss. "Where are you headed?" he asked her. "It's dark out there."

Maggie looked towards the kitchen door. "I haven't taken care of Daryl's wound yet today and I don't know if he's in his room or not. He didn't answer when I knocked, so I figured I'd try the outside door, maybe see if I could see in the window. He and Andrea were drinking earlier this evening and I wouldn't be surprised if he's passed out on his bed."

A huge grin spread across Glenn's face. "Andrea and Daryl were partying together? Awesome! Is Andrea with him now?"

"No," Maggie said, "She's upstairs right now in the shower. According to her, the seduction of Daryl Dixon is scheduled for later this evening." Maggie saw Carol look up and over at her with a look of disapproval on her face. 'Right with you on that,' Maggie thought.

Glenn told Maggie that Hershel and Beth were on the deck enjoying the little fire pit bowl they'd found stored in one of the sheds and that they would all more than likely be eating out on the deck. Maggie said she'd catch up with him later and after he gave her a kiss, she went out the kitchen door and onto the porch.

* * *

She walked over to Daryl's exterior door an knocked on it. No one answered . She peeked though his windows and through one she could see his empty bed. Where was he? Was he still in the meadow? She fumbled around in her pocket and bought out a small LED flashlight and walked to the gate on the meadow side of the chain link fence. The gate had been locked, so Daryl couldn't be in the meadow. She would check the garage.

Maggie was surprised to find that the garage door was unlocked and she slowly opened it, cringing as the hinges creaked loudly. The garage was dark and cool. The perfect place for monsters to hide, she thought with a smirk. "Daryl?" she called. There was no sound. She scanned the interior of the garage with the flashlight. On the pass of the light over by where the tools hung on the wall, she saw Daryl on his back on the floor. She quickly made her way across the garage and illuminated Daryl with the flashlight, checking for bites or wounds. She couldn't see any. He was on his back and his arms were stretched out over his head. Maggie knelt down next to him. She was preparing to yell at him and give him hell about getting drunk and passing out in the garage when his eyes opened and he looked up at her.

"Hi." he said drowsily, and then he closed his eyes and turned his head to the side.

"Hi?! _Hi?! _What the heck, Daryl! Look at you!" she scolded. "Do you know how lucky you are that you didn't throw up and choke to death?"

Daryl didn't open his eyes, but the corners of his mouth turned up in a small smile. "Jus' like Bon Scott?"

"Get up," Maggie ordered as she grabbed his right arm and tried to pull him into a sitting position.

He slapped her hands away. "Jus' go. Leave me be. I'm fine right here. Don' wanna move." he grumbled.

"You want to stay out here on a cold cement floor all night? Are you nuts?"

Daryl snorted. "Nah, jus' a lil' drunk." He stared at her for a moment and a worried look crossed his face. Maggie was worried for a second, but she almost laughed when he lamented, "Ya know...I've been trying ta pluck figs an' fuck pigs an' I jes' can't seem to be able to." He giggled. "Tryin' to say it." He explained. "I'd never fuck a pig." He smirked and added, "A real non human pig. Some girls is pigs, you know? I might a fucked one er two a them."

She grabbed his right arm again and pulled on it. "C'mon Tiger, you dirty pig fucker; we need to get you to your room so Maggie can change that boo boo dressing for you and then you can go sleepy sleep and pluck all the figs and fuck all the pigs your little heart desires."

Daryl sat up. He groaned and then buried his face in his hands. "Maggie. I can't hardly see outta my right eye an'….an'…." he wrapped his arms around his knees and let his chin fall to his knees. "I guess I forgot what else."

Maggie patted Daryl's right shoulder. "Come on, I'll help you up," she said. She grasped his right arm and hauled up on it as he stood up. He got to his feet and then leaned heavily against her when his left knee buckled, almost knocking her over. Maggie braced her legs and held onto Daryl, her right arm holding his right arm and her left arm snaking around his waist and pulling him against her to support him.

"What the hell, Ti?" she exclaimed.

"That's the other thing." Daryl sighed. "My left leg ain't workin' right. Plus I'm drunk."

"Le's get you to your room, okay? Just lean against me," Maggie said gently as if she was talking to small child.

"I ain't a fuckin' invalid," Daryl mumbled, but he clung to her with his right hand and leaned into her to help him retain his balance.

Maggie made a face. "Damn, you _reek _of whiskey" she exclaimed as they moved slowly towards the garage door.

Daryl hung his head and slumped against her and for a second Maggie thought he was going to pass out and face-plant right on the cement floor. She bumped him with her hip. "Hey, are you still with me?"

"No," he mumbled from beneath the hair hanging partially in his face.

"You're not going to pass out, are you?" Maggie asked.

Daryl lifted his head a bit to look at her with glassy eyes and gave her a small smile. She sounded worried. Aww, that was so cute. "Nah…..maybe. Yeah." He shook his head. "I don' know. I 'spose I might."

Maggie smiled at his drunken indecision. "I may be strong, but I'm not strong enough to carry you if you pass out," she told him.

"If'n I do, jus' keep me from hittin' the ground too hard and we'll be fine," Daryl mumbled.

They stumbled across the lawn and Maggie said, "So, was it fun getting blasted with Andrea?"

Daryl snorted. "Blondie's fuckin' good at throwin' down shots."

Maggie felt him suddenly tense up and he sucked in a breath, "Whoa. Gotta stop," he almost whispered. She stopped with him. They were only about twenty feet from the porch and she could see his shadowed face quite well. His eyes were closed tightly and his brow was furrowed and then she felt him start to tremble.

"Daryl!" she was worried now. "Whats the matter? Where does it hurt?"

Daryl didn't open his eyes or move. "Who says anythin' hurts?" he said tightly.

"Your body does, now spill. Let me help you." Maggie started rubbing Daryl's back. "Where does it hurt."

Daryl took a deep breath. "I'm okay now." he said and he leaned into Maggie and started to walk. Maggie wrapped her arm around his waist again, prepared to bawl him out if he tried to shake her off. He didn't and they made it up onto the porch and into his room. She supported him as he sat down gingerly on the bed. He sighed and she knelt down and started to untie his boots. "What the hell are you doin'?" he asked her.

"Taking off your boots." She expected some snarky comment from him or an order to stop it immediately, but he didn't say anything until she finished removing both of his boots and then he surprised her with a soft, "Thanks."

"Can you take your shirt off and lie back so I can take a look at your bandage?" she asked him. "Please." she added.

Daryl pulled his feet up onto his bed and then leaned back into the pillows and a long sigh escaped his lips. "Let'skip it for today." he said.

Maggie's eyes got wide and she shook her head. "You can't just skip a dressing change for a day!" she snapped.

"I'd rather you just skip it for now an' go. Jus' leave me be." Daryl said as he closed his eyes and slowly rolled onto his right side.

Maggie put her hand on his left shoulder and he jerked away from her. She placed her hand firmly on his shoulder again. "I'm not going to hurt you." she said. She could feel him trembling beneath her hand.

"Dammit, Daryl, where does it hurt? Is it the incision site? Your head?"

"Shhhhh…don't be yellin'," Daryl scolded quietly. "'S my head. Guess it serves me right for drinkin'." He caught his breath and winced. "Fuck!"

Maggie startled at his outburst. He lazily opened his right eye and looked at her. "Sorry 'bout that. Gotta push it down an' stop bein' such a pussy." He motioned toward the door. "You oughta leave. An' make sure you lock the door an' that the deadbolt is locked from outside. 'S important, you understand? Now go on, get outta here."

Maggie rubbed his shoulder and leaned her face down close to his. "I'm going to go get my father." she told him.

"Nah, don'cha go buggin' Hershel 'bout this." he said slowly.

He took a deep breath and said,"You're my best friend, Maggie, an' I'd do anythin' for you. I'd die for you if it came down to that. You know that, right?"

Maggie swallowed, "You take good care of all of us, Daryl." Maggie reassured him and she took his hand in hers.

"Ain't never gonna let anyone hurt you." Daryl said and he squeezed her hand.

Maggie bit her bottom lip. This was the second time Daryl had told her he was willing to die for her and both times he'd been drunk. She didn't think he realized that he had proven to everyone that he felt that way about all of the members of the group. When he'd infiltrated the group of hostiles that had tried to snatch the house from them, he'd put his life on the line for all of them, not just her. He had especially gone out of his way to protect Rick. She smiled as a passage from Scripture popped into her head, "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friends." Maggie hoped it never came down to that and she wondered if she would have the courage to lay down her life for her friends if the choice had to be made. She didn't think she could. She wanted to yell at Daryl, to tell him that she wasn't his responsibility, that _they_ weren't his responsibility. That is wasn't up to him to keep them warm and dry and fed and alive.

"See?" he mumbled sleepily. "'s goin' away now." He yawned. "'s good 'cause I _really_ need a shower."

Maggie was relieved that Daryl's headache was better and upon looking him over in the light she could see that he was covered with dirt. "Just go to sleep. You can shower tomorrow. Here, I'll sit with you for a while."

Maggie sat in silence next to Daryl until he fell asleep about five minutes later. She sat next to him for another five minutes just watching his chest rise and fall and listening to him breathe. His headache had worried her and she was pretty sure it had worried him as well.

Maggie locked the exterior door to the back porch but unlocked the door that lead out into the hallway and exited through that door into the hallway. She decided she would leave the door unlocked. After all, Andrea wouldn't be able to pay Daryl a visit if the door was locked and Maggie needed to help Andrea and Daryl get together. The thought of Andrea kissing Daryl and holding him made her almost physically ill, but she needed to get over it. She had to stop being so jealous, she had no right to be. She was with Glenn, not Daryl. "You can't have your cake and eat it, too." she told herself again.

* * *

Maggie sat next to Glenn on the deck and ate her dinner in silence. There was a lot of laughing and talking going on and she found herself smiling when she saw Rick slide his hand into Lori's as they laughed at an extremely bad joke that Dale had just told. Maggie called to Andrea as Andrea stood up with her empty plate and approached where Maggie sat next to Glenn. "Daryl wouldn't let me change his dressing." Maggie said. "He's really tired, but his door is unlocked if you decide you want to pop in on him."

Andrea smiled. "Thanks, Maggie."

"Also," Maggie added, "if you're going to wake him up, its best to talk to him and wake him up that way. Don't touch him first. He's liable to take a swing at you."

Andrea smirked. "How Darylish", she commented.

Maggie smiled. "Good luck, Andrea."

Glenn had been playing Blitz on his iPod and caught the last part of their conversation. His face lit up. "Yes!" he exclaimed. "Go get him, Andrea!"

Andrea smiled at the couple and then walked into the house, carrying her empty plate.

Glenn looked at Maggie, then smiled at her and squeezed her hand. "Yup," he said. "Cutest blue eyed babies _ever_."


	75. Chapter 75

Maggie watched the members of the group interacting with each other. Dale was now telling stories about his travels with his wife Irma. They had never been able to have any children so they spent a lot of time traveling and seeing the world. He was telling them about a trip to Peru that the couple had taken. They had stayed at a very fancy resort on Lake Titicaca and one of the llamas that lived on the grounds took an immediate liking to Irma. The minute Irma stepped outside it would make a beeline to her and she would pat it and scratch the animal's neck and behind it's furry ears. It would follow her around as she walked the grounds and hum and bleat as if it was talking to her. This was cute for the first day or so, but it soon became annoying. It didn't help that it became apparent that the animal was jealous of Dale and didn't want him near Irma when it was around. If Irma and Dale were walking together, the llama would try to squeeze in between them and it hissed and spit at Dale a couple of times when he was out and about on the grounds with Irma. The last straw came one day when the llama was walking with the couple. Irma looked away from Dale and at something that caught her interest and the animal flattened its ears and moved like lightning, chomping Dale hard on his fleshy behind. It then tried to herd Irma away from Dale by pushing her not so gently with its nose. Dale was amazed. The llama actually appeared to wait until Irma was 'looking in the other direction' before it went after its rival. The llama was confined to the barn at the resort after that until the Horvaths left and the resort management fell all over themselves apologizing. The Horvaths were given an upgrade to a suite and their meals were free for the rest of their stay.

Carl and Glenn thought the funniest part of the story was the name of the lake and they had both snickered when Dale had said it. Carol thought Dale was making it up and it took a few minutes to convince her that there really was a Lake Titicaca. Carl suggested changing the name of Mirror Lake to Lake Cacatiti. The idea was promptly shot down by Rick and Lori and Carl was told to behave himself.

Glenn was rubbing Maggie's back as Rick began to tell a story about a break in at a liquor store where the thief got drunk sampling the wares and then called police from inside the store from his cell phone because he couldn't get out. Maggie leaned against Glenn and whispered into his ear. "I'm really tired, hon. I think I'm going to go upstairs and get ready for bed."

Glenn kissed her on the cheek. "Okay, I'm wide awake, so don't wait up for me," he told her.

She smiled at him and nodded as she stood up and gathered up both their plates and silverware. Glenn saw Carl looking in their direction. He wiggled his eyebrows at Carl and put a finger to his lips (shhhh...) then reached over and pinched Maggie's butt. She jumped, and luckily did not drop the plates and utensils she was holding.

"Dammit, Glenn! That wasn't funny!"

Carl's giggling indicated otherwise and Glenn shrugged and put on an 'I'm innocent ' face. "I was just doing my llama impression for Carl," he explained.

Maggie wasn't amused. "You didn't need to pinch so hard! You want me to show Carl my 'angry Maggie' impression and kick your ass into the middle of next week?"

"Margaret!" Hershel exclaimed with a horrified look on his face. Beth and Carl exchanged glances at each other and giggled.

Glenn grinned at his feisty girlfriend and said, "Sure, I've always wondered about time-travel."

"Sorry, Daddy," Maggie called over her shoulder. She smirked at Glenn and then she hurried across the deck towards the door.

* * *

She washed the dishes she had brought in as well as the ones sitting in the sink and put them away after drying them.

Maggie wondered if Andrea was in Daryl's room and if she was, what was going on in there. She was pretty sure that Daryl was too shitfaced to be very responsive to any moves Andrea might make, but he was still a man, and Andrea seemed to be quite determined to have her way with him. She struggled with the temptation to go and listen at Daryl's bedroom door. If they were getting all hot and heavy in there, did she really want to hear it? She sighed and decided that she would take a slow walk past his door and if she didn't hear anything, she would just forget it and go up to her room and get ready for bed. She wasn't sure what she would do if she _did_ hear something going on. Would she knock and interrupt things? Yell "fire!"? Of course not. She wanted Daryl and Andrea to get together. But wait, Daryl wasn't feeling so great (did anyone after drinking as much as he had?) and what if he wasn't in the mood to fool around with Andrea but she wouldn't leave? What if she took advantage of him against his will? She snorted at the complete absurdity of that thought. No one was going to make Daryl Dixon do anything he didn't want to, (except her Dad, and he had cheated) and he was a big boy, he certainly could handle Andrea. Why the hell did she care, anyway?

She sighed and walked through the dining room and the great room. She heard a loud belch expelled by Carl Grimes come from out on the deck and then she heard Glenn and Rick laughing as Lori and Carol expressed their displeasure and disgust. Maggie rolled her eyes. What was it with so many men that made them think it was funny when someone cut loose with a belch or something worse? She quietly made her way across the room and into the hallway and stopped in front of Daryl's door to see if she could hear any noise coming from the room. She didn't, not a peep, and she didn't realize she was smiling as she climbed the stairs to the second floor.

Andrea was coming out of the bathroom and greeted Maggie. "It looks like tonight is a no-go, unless I just want to sleep over," she told Maggie.

Maggie gave Andrea a look of sympathy. "Really? He wasn't interested? I'm surprised!" she exclaimed.

Andrea snorted. "Interested?! He wasn't awake! I poked and prodded him and he'd open his eyes for a second and mumble and try to shoo me away." She shook her head in wonder, "I can't believe that I was able to drink Daryl Dixon under the table. Who'd a thought he'd be such a lightweight."

Maggie grinned. "Wonders never cease, I guess," she said. "and there's always tomorrow. Maybe he'll be more receptive when he isn't plastered."

Andrea scowled. "That's just the thing. He won't be. He'll be all 'Don't touch me, don't talk to me, don't look at me,' like he usually is," she complained. "I know damned well he would have bolted when I kissed him if he'd been sober." Her scowl dissolved into a small, sly smile. "He did tell me a couple of times that he thought I was pretty, though."

"Really?" Maggie asked. "Well that's something. I don't think Daryl passes out compliments like that very often."

Andrea had a faraway look in her eyes for a second and then looked back at Maggie. "Then he said I had a nice ass...and that my 'rack' wasn't bad."

Maggie burst out laughing. "Wow, he said that?"

Andrea giggled. "I know! I never in my life thought I'd hear Daryl Dixon tell me he admired my ass or my chest."

Maggie pondered this information. Daryl had told her she was beautiful when he'd been drunk before. Maybe he was a sweet talker to all the women he encountered when he was drinking. He certainly seemed to lose some of his inhibitions and shyness, and she could see where sweet words spoken softly in that silky southern drawl of his could cause a woman to melt. She had heard that soft voice a couple of times and she had to admit it was quite a contrast to the gruff way he usually spoke to the people around him.

"I considered just climbing into his bed next to him and being there in the morning when he wakes up," Andrea admitted, "I still might just do that."

Maggie felt a pang of what, jealousy? "I'm exhausted so I'm going to bed." She said and she yawned as if to emphasize her exhaustion. "Good luck with Daryl."

"Goodnight and thanks for the encouragement," Andrea replied and patted Maggie's shoulder as Maggie walked by her towards her room.

* * *

Glenn was following Rick and Lori into the house from the deck when he felt a hand on his shoulder and he jumped. He turned quickly and saw Carol standing behind him.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" she asked.

Glenn smiled and felt his cheeks color. "Look Carol, I'm sorry I didn't help out in the garden today like I said I would, but with everything that happened last night and early this morning.."

"Oh, Glenn, you don't need to explain or apologize, I'm sure you were exhausted and that isn't what I want to talk about. Can you stay out here and sit down with me for a few minutes? It's kind of important."

Glenn was puzzled. "You have something important to talk to me about? Me?" he asked.

Carol nodded. "Yes, I do."

Glenn shrugged. "Okay," and he turned around and followed her to the patio table. He sat down in one of the end chairs and Carol pulled a chair up next to his.

Carol smiled and said, "I guess you had quite the adventure back at the farm. I'm glad Daryl was able to find you."

Glenn smiled and nodded, "Not as glad as I am. I thought for sure I was finished."

Carol seemed to ponder for a moment, then said, "You and Daryl get a long pretty well, don't you? I mean, you're friends, right?"

Glenn suddenly understood what this was all about. Carol was testing the waters to see how close he was to Daryl so she could ask him to hint to Daryl that she was interested in him.

"Look, Carol, I'm not really a very good go between, if you're interested in starting something up with Daryl, then you should probably.…"

Glenn's hands were folded in front of him on the table and Carol reached over and squeezed them, "No, Glenn, this isn't about me and Daryl," she said, "It's about Daryl and Maggie."

"Daryl and Maggie? They're good friends."

Carol patted Glenn's hands and slowly shook her head, a look of sympathy on her face. "I think their relationship goes deeper than that. Quite a bit deeper," she told him.

Glenn laughed. "Oh, it does not. They're really close friends, that's all." He started to stand up. "Now if you'll excuse me..."

Carol shrugged, "Okay, if you're not interested in knowing what's going on then fine, but I just thought you'd want to know before everyone else does."

Glenn sat back down. "Carol," he said earnestly, "Maggie and Daryl are just friends. I don't know what you think you know, but there is nothing romantic or sexual going on between them."

"Uh huh," Carol said. "Is that why you both ended up with black eyes?"

Glenn narrowed his eyes at Carol. "I made a mistake. I read too much into something that was completely innocent. Kind of like you're doing right now."

Carol laughed. "Innocent? Let me tell you what I know and you can be the judge of how 'innocent' the situation is."

Glenn swallowed and nodded. "I'd really rather not, but go ahead, tell me what you think you know."

Carol leaned in further so her face was just inches from his. "I went into Daryl's room a couple days ago after Maggie left after changing his bandages. Daryl had been drinking whiskey and he was asleep when I went in to check on him. I thought I would be helpful and pick up some of his laundry to wash for him and while I was in his bathroom I found one of Maggie's earrings on the floor."

"So? That doesn't mean anything." Glenn said defensively. "Maggie is in there every day to change his dressing. It would be easy for her to lose an earring in the bathroom."

Carol nodded. "I know, I know, but when I took it up to give it to her about a half hour later in her room, she acted nervous about it and...and...well, her shirt was on inside out." She looked at him expectantly.

Glenn sat back in the chair. "That's it? That's all you've got?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.

Carol sat back, too. "No." She paused for a moment and sighed. "There's this, too. Daryl's jeans and boxers were on top of the pile of freshly used towels in the bathroom and they hadn't been there for very long at all. There was some fresh evidence of...sexual activity..in his boxers and in his jeans."

Glenn stood up as if to leave. "So? Daryl probably jerked off earlier. Men do that sometimes, you know," he said sarcastically.

"Okay," Carol said calmly. "If that's what you want to think. I just thought you should know what I found. Personally, I think that all that plus the fact that he gave Maggie a knife he's had since he was a teenager sort of tells a story and it isn't one of just friendship."

Glenn frowned. "Did you ask Daryl if there is anything going on between him and Maggie?"

Carol huffed, "Do you think he'd admit it to me if there was?"

Glenn sat back down in the chair. "No, no. You're wrong. If Daryl was interested in Maggie, he wouldn't have put himself at risk to find me at the farm. He could have come back with Andrea and the others and left me there, but he stayed behind to find me."

"Maybe if something had happened to you he would have felt guilty because he's been messing around with your girlfriend." Carol suggested.

"Daryl's been beat up so badly lately that I highly doubt he's even thinking about messing around with anyone."

"Oh, I don't know..I saw a pair of boxers and jeans that say differently." Carol replied. "Look, I just thought you should know about what I observed. You can draw your own conclusions, of course, but personally, I think the fact that Maggie obviously never mentioned my conversation with her to you speaks volumes." She stood up and patted Glenn's arm as she passed him on her way to the door. "Ask Maggie about it and see what she says," she advised.

Glenn watched her walk into the house. He sat under the starry sky by himself for a long time. What if Maggie was cheating on him with Daryl? What would he do? He'd do the only thing he could. He'd kick Maggie out of his bedroom (after all, he was moving into the house with the Atlanta group, she had been added to the lake house roster only after her father had given his approval for her to move into the house), then he would find Daryl and punch him in the face as hard as he could and then, if he was still alive after confronting Daryl, he'd go sit down in a quiet and secluded place and cry for a while.

* * *

Glenn got to his feet and entered the house, locking the door to the deck behind him. He marched up the stairs to the second floor and went into the bathroom closest to the room he shared with Maggie. He mulled things over in his mind as he brushed his teeth.

Daryl had slept most of the way back from the farm but Glenn had spoken to him about how Andrea was interested in him. He remembered how Daryl had been quick to chastise him for talking about how pretty he thought Andrea was. Daryl had told him that he shouldn't be thinking of Andrea that way when he had a pretty girlfriend. Glenn had told Daryl that he knew he cared for Maggie when Daryl had bitched that caring for people was stupid and Daryl had vehemently denied it. In his mind, Glenn had labeled Daryl's denial as pure bullshit. Glenn had thought for a while now that Maggie and Daryl had feelings deeper than friendship for each other. Maggie had pretty much confirmed her feelings when the group thought Daryl had been killed by the invading hostiles. Glenn was sure Daryl was attracted to Maggie but he had felt safe because he was sure Daryl was honorable enough to ignore any feelings he might have for a woman that was already in a relationship. Was he wrong? Had Daryl stepped over the line? Maggie had confessed that she had been in bed with Daryl a couple of times, but Maggie and Daryl both insisted nothing physical had happened. Had they been lying? Had they been telling the truth at the time but now things had changed? How would he handle it if Daryl and Maggie had slept together? Glenn's head started to ache.

What did Maggie want? Did she want him or did she want Daryl? As Glenn washed his face, he considered the possibility of him and Daryl sliding into each other's places. Glenn moving from the 'Maggie's boyfriend' slot into the 'Maggie's friend' slot and Daryl slipping from 'Maggie's friend' into the first place 'Maggie's boyfriend' slot.

No, Daryl was too old for Maggie and too feral. He wasn't a relationship kind of guy. This made Glenn feel a bit better and he dried his face on a fresh towel. He stepped into the bedroom and flicked on the lights.

Maggie groaned. "Damn, hon, did you have to turn on the light? I was almost asleep."

"Are you awake now?" Glenn asked.

"Almost," Maggie replied sleepily.

Glenn closed the door behind him and leaned against it and folded his arms. "Good," he said, "Because as soon as you're completely awake we need to talk."


	76. Chapter 76

**Just a few more chapters left until the end of the story, so hang in there! **

Maggie sat up in bed. "Now?" she sighed. "Are you serious? This can't wait until tomorrow?"

"No," Glenn said, "It really can't."

Maggie rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and took a good look at Glenn. He stood leaning against the bedroom door, arms folded and a blank expression on his face. "What is it?" she asked.

Glenn stared at her and she felt like he was looking right through her. "I was just given some disturbing information and I need some clarification." he said.

Maggie twisted the blankets in her hands and pursed her lips together, waiting for him to continue.

"Why didn't you tell me about what Carol's said to you? I would have thought what she insinuated would have infuriated you."

"It did," Maggie said, "and I handled it."

"Uh huh." Glenn said, "but you didn't see fit to share it with me?"

Maggie gave Glenn a weak smile, "I was going to, but I just hadn't found the right time."

Glenn exploded. "The right time?! We've been with each other almost all day today!" He threw up his arms, "You mean to tell me you couldn't find a _moment_ in this _whole day_ to tell me that Carol accused you of messing around with Daryl? Don't you think I would have rather heard what she suspects from you instead of from her?"

Maggie bit her lower lip and hugged the blankets against her where she sat on the bed. "I'm sorry. You're right, I should have found the time to tell you about it."

"Damn straight you should have!" Glenn said angrily. "Can you explain to me how your earring ended up on the floor of Daryl's bathroom and why your shirt was on inside out after you'd been with Daryl in his room? Carol said he was asleep when she went in right after you left, but there was evidence that he'd been having a jolly good time a short time earlier."

Maggie frowned. After she'd left? So Carol had seen her leave Daryl's room that day and then had rushed right in to snoop around. The trouble-making busybody.

"Well?" Glenn prompted. "Say something, dammit!"

Maggie swallowed and said,"This is going to sound so much worse than it is and I was going to tell you earlier."

Glenn narrowed his eyes at Maggie. It was going to sound worse than it was? Shit, did he really want to know what she was going to say? Was confronting her a big mistake? He suddenly regretted asking her about Carol's suspicions, and for a second he actually thought of dashing out the door and then coming back into the room and starting over, without bringing up Carol's suspicions, but it was too late.

Maggie began, "you know Daryl has been really uncomfortable around me since he found out that I'd washed him up when he was in such awful shape, right?"

Glenn moved over towards the bed and sat down on the end of it. He looked at Maggie and she dropped her eyes and watched her hands as she twisted and wrung the blankets nervously. "Yeah," he said, waiting for her to continue.

"I had to fix that. Every time he looked at me, he was embarrassed. It was affecting our friendship, ruining it. So, I ….I just..." She raised her eyes and looked into Glenn's and then looked away.

"You just what?" Glenn asked.

"I let him see me naked," Maggie blurted out, refusing to look at Glenn so she wouldn't have to see the hurt or the anger in his eyes.

Glenn inhaled sharply and bit his bottom lip. He was silent for a moment and Maggie fidgeted where she sat, wishing he would say or do something. Yell at her, scream, throw something at the wall or stand up and storm off.

"Not telling me about that is so much worse than not telling me about what Carol accused you of! I feel like I don't even know you!" Glenn shook his head.

They were both silent for what seemed like a long time. "Getting naked in front of Daryl, your idea or his?" Glenn asked.

"Mine, of course," Maggie said quickly.

Glenn nodded. "Okay, okay...so is that how you lost your earring?"

Maggie still wouldn't look at Glenn. "I think so. I took off my clothes in the bathroom."

"Damn, Maggie. Was that really necessary? I mean, what the hell were you thinking?" Glenn was having trouble keeping his anger under control, but he was trying to as well as he could.

Maggie peeked up at Glenn. "I was thinking that I could save a dying friendship."

"By strutting around naked in front of a man who isn't me? Did you even _consider_ how I might feel about that? Did you think of me _at all_ when you decided to play Gypsy Rose Lee?"

"I thought you'd understand," Maggie explained.

"How would you feel if I stripped and hung around naked with Andrea for a while?" he asked.

"Well," Maggie replied, "it depends on why you'd do it. If it was because you'd seen Andrea naked and she was uncomfortable, I'd understand why."

"So now when Daryl looks at you he pictures you naked. Isn't that special." He narrowed his eyes. "Did he touch you?"

Maggie hadn't expected that question and she stuttered. "What...what? No, I sort of ….he.."

Glenn stood up and pointed a finger at Maggie. "Of course he did, that's why...dammit, Maggie how could you do this to us! How could _Daryl_ do this to us!"

Maggie grabbed Glenn's hand and pleaded with him as tears started to run down her cheeks. "No, he didn't do anything...that isn't how.. it was me... he just.."

Glenn yanked his hand away from her and stepped back from her. "I'm on the couch tonight and you get all your stuff out of this room tomorrow! Maybe you can move into Daryl's room with him. We're done!" He stomped out of the room and slammed the door as Maggie jumped out of the bed to follow him.

Maggie threw the door open, and Glenn was standing there waiting. He glared at her and pointed a finger in her face. He had expected her to follow him. "Stay away from me, Maggie. Just back off. I am in no mood to talk to you or to even look at you right now." he warned.

"Glenn, please," Maggie begged as she reached out to him.

"I'm serious, Maggie. Get back in the damned room," Glenn growled as he stepped back. "_Now_."

"It wasn't his fault, it's not Daryl's fault." Maggie sobbed.

Glenn turned away from her and stomped down the hall.

* * *

Andrea opened the door to her room as Glenn passed it. Maggie had tearfully retreated into the room she shared with Glenn and Andrea called out to Glenn. "What's going on?"

Glenn kept on moving. "Fight," he said. "Sorry about the noise."

Andrea nodded, concern in her eyes. "Everything okay?" she asked.

"Not yet. I'll work on it though," Glenn told her.

Andrea watched him as he started down the stairs and then she walked down to Glenn's room and knocked on the door.

The door flew open and Maggie stood there with a hopeful look on her face. Her face fell when she saw Andrea standing there. "Oh," she said sadly, "I thought you were Glenn."

"Fight, huh?" Andrea stated more than asked.

Maggie wiped her eyes. "Yeah."

Andrea reached out her arms and embraced Maggie in a hug. "You okay?" she asked.

Maggie sniffed and nodded. "I don't know."

"Do you want to talk about it?" Andrea asked.

Maggie shook her head. "I need to think, first." she said.

Andrea smiled and hugged Maggie again. "I'm right down the hall if you need to talk, hon, okay?"

Maggie nodded. "Thanks, I appreciate it," she said and she sniffed again.

* * *

Daryl was awakened by someone pounding on his door. At first he thought it was just his headache pounding a drum in his head, but as he slowly transitioned from a deep sleep to being partially awake he realized that the pounding he was hearing was different from the pounding in his head. Daryl pulled his pillow over his head hoping to block out the pounding noise that didn't originate inside his head. It didn't work.

Glenn continued to bang on the door. He was sure that in a few minutes he would be hearing complaints from the people upstairs but he was so riled up he didn't really care. "Dammit, Daryl, you open this door or I'll stand out here and bang on it all night!"

Daryl sighed and pulled himself up into a sitting position on the edge of his bed. Apparently Maggie had finally gotten around to telling Glenn about revealing her naked self to Daryl and Glenn wasn't taking the news very well. He ran his fingers through his hair and stifled a laugh. He was still feeling drunk and Glenn's timing couldn't have been worse. "Just a fuckin' minute," he mumbled to himself. He stood up and almost fell as his left leg started to give out beneath him. "Fuck," he hissed as he grabbed onto the bed to steady himself. He tightened up his muscles in his left leg and shifted some of his weight from his right leg onto his left as he held on to the bed.

Glenn pounded on the door again, "I'm not going away!" he yelled.

"Shut the fuck up, I'm comin'." Daryl shouted at the door. He immediately winced as a sharp pained stabbed his head in response to his yelling. He made a mental note to himself to keep his voice down. He hobbled over to the door and unlocked it, noting the weakness in his left hand and arm as well. He opened the door and Glenn stepped into the room swinging his fists. Daryl had expected that Glenn might be looking for a fight and he stepped back in time to avoid being slugged. He grabbed Glenn's fists with his hands and slammed himself into Glenn, pushing him up against the door which banged shut behind them. He held Glenn against the door, pinning his wrists to his sides, his weakened left hand and arm barely restraining the young man. "Calm the fuck down!" Daryl yelled in Glenn's face, then he winced involuntarily as a white-hot pain shot through his skull.

Glenn saw Daryl wince and felt the man's grip on his wrists loosen and he took advantage of the situation, yanking his wrists out of Daryl's grip and shoving Daryl away from him.

Daryl hopped back two steps and moved into a fighting stance, crouching slightly and bringing up his fists.

Glenn moved forward a step and Daryl moved back another step. "You asshole!" Glenn yelled. "You selfish, mean-spirited asshole!" He clenched his hands into fists at his side and glared at Daryl. Daryl glared back and Glenn noticed that he swayed slightly where he stood.

"Mean spirited? You're just figurin' that out?" Daryl snarled.

"How could you make a move on my girlfriend? What did I ever do to you?" Glenn hollered, his voice breaking. He brought his fisted hands up and mimicked Daryl's stance.

Daryl bit his bottom lip. Maggie must have told Glenn that he had kissed her. When he had apologized for doing it, she had said she was sorry, too. He wondered at the time what she would have to be sorry about, but now he realized she probably meant that she was sorry because she would have to tell Glenn about it. Now Glenn was standing in front of him accusing him of making a move on Maggie and he was right, Daryl thought. He _had_ made a move on Maggie. He stood there and didn't speak. What could he say? He doubted that Glenn would find 'sorry' to be sufficient.

Glenn stood up straight and wiped at his eyes with a hand. "So you're not even going to try to deny it?" he said and he sniffed.

Daryl didn't answer and stayed crouched and ready for Glenn to come at him.

Glenn started to fall apart. "Why did you have to do that? Andrea likes you, Carol likes you. You could have either one of them. Why Maggie? Why my girlfriend? I thought we were friends!" he sobbed.

Daryl was starting to feel really uncomfortable. It was bad enough when a woman cried in front of him, but Glenn? He straightened up, dropping his arms to his sides and said, "You're right, it wan't right of me. I'd say I'm sorry but you won't believe me. You got every right ta wanna kick my ass. In a few days you can help me load up my truck if you want an' I'll get the hell outta here. You won't ever hafta see me again."

Glenn sobbed all the more and Daryl shifted his weight nervously from his weaker left leg to his right one. He had to fix this. He had to get Glenn to man up and let this go. "Fine," Daryl sighed. "You get one free shot. It'll make you feel better an' I'll have done my penance. All I ask is that you don't go for my eyes."

Daryl figured it was the perfect solution for the two men. Glenn would feel vindicated and would hopefully regain some of the dignity that he'd lost by bawling in front of him and once he'd slugged the evil Daryl, Glenn could skip back to Maggie and they could live happily ever after. Daryl would get his just punishment for kissing Maggie and then the score would be even and they could all move on. He could take a hit from Glenn, he was sure of it. He'd taken worse than Glenn could ever dish out from Merle, and the last time Glenn had hit him it hadn't been that bad. The shiner had just taken a while to fade. He clasped his hands behind his back and leaned back a bit, closing his eyes and tilting his head back slightly. He heard Glenn continue to sniff and cry and he opened his eyes again to see what the delay was.

Glenn was staring at him through teary eyes. "You think I'll feel better if I hit you?" he asked as he wiped his face on his sleeve.

"Isn't that what you came in here to do?" Daryl asked him.

Glenn nodded. "Yeah, yeah it was."

"Did you think it'd make you feel better?"

"I guess so. I'm just so damned _mad_ at you!"

"So do it. If it'll even the score for ya, fuckin' hit me. I wanna get back to bed an' we all wanna get on with our lives, ain't that right? Now c'mon." Daryl closed his eyes and tilted his head back a bit again.

Glenn exhaled loudly. "I can't hit you again. I won't. I'm more sad than mad now. I don't understand why you'd do that to me and I feel so damned…hurt."

Daryl rolled his eyes. His head was killing him and he wanted this over and done with. He wanted Glenn out of his room so he could crawl back onto his bed and hopefully sleep off the hangover that was coming and the headache that was already there.

Daryl leaned towards Glenn, "Look, I'm sorry. What I did was wrong, but I can't turn back time an' take it back."

Glenn nodded and wiped his eyes.

Daryl looked down at the floor. "I got carried away. It'd been a long time since I'd kissed a woman that way."

Daryl had _kissed _Maggie?! Glenn snapped. Daryl wasn't ready for the blow to his left temple and the force of the impact spun him around before he hit the floor.

Glenn grimaced and mouthed "Yow!" as he shook and then opened and closed his fist. He'd had no idea that he could hit that hard. Damn that had hurt. He had put all his weight and strength behind the strike and Daryl had a damned hard head.

* * *

Glenn stared down at where Daryl now lay at his feet. He stepped back a few steps to the door and let himself out of the room and into the hallway. He wandered into the great room in a daze and over to one of the couches and sat down on it. Hershel usually slept on a couch in this room when he stayed over, but he and Beth were now in the living quarters room on the third floor. Glenn pulled his legs up and stretched out on the couch, using a small pile of throw pillows to rest his head on.

Glenn closed his eyes. He pushed all thoughts of Maggie out of his head. He didn't want to think right now at all. He concentrated on the dull throbbing pain in his right hand and sighed. Daryl had been right, though. He did feel a bit better now.


	77. Chapter 77

Glenn heard heavy footsteps coming down the stairs and he sat up as Rick entered the room. Rick was wearing a pair of cotton pajama bottoms and a t-shirt and Glenn wondered if Rick had been trying to sleep while he and Daryl were having their ruckus or if the racket they'd made had awakened him.

Rick approached Glenn and stopped about three feet from him and rubbed the stubble on his chin. He didn't say anything and Glenn didn't either. Rick then moved forward and sat on the couch next to Glenn. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees as he rested his chin in his folded hands. "I know this is probably a stupid question," he said, "but are you alright?"

Glenn actually laughed. "No," he said. "No, I'm most definitely not alright."

Rick nodded and clapped Glenn on the shoulder. "I'm a good listener, if you want to talk about it," Rick offered.

Glenn had told himself that he was going to just deal with this himself, but here was Rick, the leader of their group, offering to listen to him complain about the shit storm he'd stepped into. Rick knew what it was like to find out that your significant other was cheating on you. He could relate to the confused mess Glenn found himself in.

Rick stood up. "I'll be right back," he said and he walked off towards the kitchen. He returned a few minutes later carrying a tray with two mugs and a plate of cookies on it. He sat it down on the coffee table in front of Glenn and sat on the couch next to him again.

Glenn smiled a small smile. "Hot cocoa in the summer?" he asked as he inhaled the aroma of the chocolate beverages in the mugs.

"Lukewarm cocoa," Rick corrected. "I just used the water from the hot water tap. Did you know that there are at least four cans of Swiss Miss hot cocoa mix in the cupboards? I think it keeps for a long time. I'm just taking a cue from the women. They seem to think chocolate helps in just about any situation." He picked up a mug and offered it to Glenn and Glenn took it. "Now," Rick said after taking a sip of his own cocoa. "Something's going on with you and Maggie, am I right?"

Glenn nodded. "Yeah," he said. "She betrayed me and I just don't know what to do. I told her I wanted her out of my room tomorrow and that we were through."

"Wow. That is some serious stuff. Do you love her?" Rick asked.

"Of course," Glenn replied. "If I didn't, this wouldn't hurt and bother me so much. And Daryl….I thought we were friends."

Rick's eyes grew big and he cocked his head. "Daryl? Daryl and Maggie?"

Glenn looked over his hot cocoa at Rick and reached for a cookie. "Yeah. Who'd a thought, huh? I mean, I knew they had become friends and I suspected that they had some deep feelings for each other, even though they denied it. I just thought that Daryl respected me enough and that Maggie loved me enough that they wouldn't act on those feelings. I guess I was wrong."

"Are you sure they slept together?" Rick asked. He couldn't believe that Daryl and Maggie would do something that would be so hurtful to Glenn.

Glenn shook his head and Rick thought he'd never seen the kid look so miserable. "No, but Daryl admitted that he'd kissed her when I confronted him, so who knows." Glenn put his mug on the table and leaned back on the couch. He stared straight ahead as if he was in some sort of trance. "You know," he said, "I just lost it when he told me that. I just saw red."

Rick watched as Glenn recounted his confrontation with Daryl and suddenly Glenn looked scared and nervous. "I hit him in the head really hard." Glenn said and then he swallowed. "I think…I think I might have killed him. I was afraid to…make sure..."

"_What?!" _Rick was on his feet in a second and running towards Daryl's room. _What the hell?!_ Glenn didn't know about Daryl's subdural hemorrhage and a good blow to his head could very well have been fatal. Rick didn't bother knocking, he flung the door open.

* * *

Daryl was sitting cross-legged in the middle of his bed, leaning forward with his head in his hands. He held a white hand towel that was stained crimson against his nose and he raised his head and looked at Rick when Rick entered the room. He closed his eyes and dropped his head again. "Doncha know how to knock?" he grumbled.

Rick released a sigh of relief. "Thank God. Glenn thought he'd killed you."

Daryl shrugged. "Knocked me out for a few seconds, but I'm okay."

Rick sank down in the chair by the closet and said, "Okay? Hershel said a good knock to the head could kill you. Glenn could have killed you."

Daryl snorted. "Not very likely. Guess all the damned booze I drank today numbed me up a bit." Daryl rubbed his left temple. "Think I'm like them boxers; Muhammad Ali, Mike Tyson, George Foreman. They'd get beat in the head a lot an' still manage to keep goin'." He pulled the towel away from his nose and took a peek at the blood on it. ''Course," he continued, "Ali quivered like a bowl a jello on a jackhammer last time I saw 'im on TV. Said it was 'cause a gettin' hit in the head so much." He looked at Rick with tired eyes. "Think maybe that might happen to me?"

Rick shook his head in wonder. Daryl was obviously not completely sober. "Daryl, I don't know, but I doubt it."

"'S China okay?"

Daryl's concern for the man who'd hurt him touched Rick. "He's upset. He feels you and Maggie betrayed him."

"Betrayed him my ass. She's my best friend an' I fuckin' kissed her." Daryl seethed. "'S all I did. I was all wound up after comin' back from the farm. Was a mistake. If he breaks up with 'er 'cause a one lousy kiss, he's a fuckin' moron."

"You two never slept together?" Rick asked before he could stop himself.

"Shit, no." Daryl answered. "I ain't _that_ much of a scumbag." Just a partial scumbag, he thought, but he wasn't about to volunteer that Maggie had gotten him all hot and bothered by parading around naked in front of him.

Rick smiled at that. "How do you feel about Maggie?" he asked.

Daryl snorted. "What, you wanna talk about my _feelins' _an' pussy shit like that? Screw you, Grimes. Ain't happenin'."

That was such a Daryl response and Rick bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

Daryl looked at Rick and then dropped his eyes. "I'm gonna be leavin'." he said quietly. "I know I said I'd' wait a week, but I can't. Not with all of this shit goin' on. You told me you'd help me load up my truck. 'S that offer still stand?"

Rick wasn't surprised by Daryl's desire to get far away from all of them, but he hated the thought of him leaving. "I was hoping to talk you out of leaving. I honestly don't think we can get by without you."

Daryl sighed. "I call bullshit on that. Y'all got enough food and water to last a long, long time. You don't need me for nothin'. Now are you gonna help me or what?"

Daryl glared at Rick.

Rick looked into Daryl's eyes and saw the hurt beneath the determination in them. He remembered what Hershel had said about Daryl being _afraid_ of the group and needing his own space. He was starting to understand why Daryl felt that way. He couldn't keep him there if the man didn't want to stay. "I'll help you," he said.

Daryl nodded but didn't say anything more.

* * *

Glenn was pacing behind the couch he'd been sitting on when Rick walked into the great room. He'd been a nervous wreck initially after Rick had run out of the room, but the longer Rick was gone, the surer he was that he hadn't killed Daryl and that was a good thing. He already had Shane's blood on his hands, the last thing he needed was Daryl's on them, too.

"Glenn, sit down." Rick ordered.

Glenn came around from the back of the couch and sat down. "Is he okay?" Glenn asked, a worried look on his face.

Rick sat down next to him and leaned back, placing one arm on the armrest and the other across the back of the couch. He tried to look relaxed and to keep his cool. "I guess that depends on what your definition of 'okay' is," Rick replied. "Were you aware of what Hershel said about Daryl and his head injury? Excuse me, that should be plural, shouldn't it? Head _injuries."_

Glenn swallowed and nodded. "He said that Daryl had a concussion and that any blows to his head could cause serious problems."

Rick ran a hand through his hair and stared at Glenn.

Glenn fidgeted. Rick had never glared at him like that and it made him incredibly uncomfortable.

"Knowing that," Rick said calmly, "do you think you should have maybe handled this situation some other way?"

Glenn lowered his head and nodded.

"I'm going to tell you something that only a few of us know; just me, Hershel and Daryl. Daryl has a subdural hemorrhage. The bleeding causes pressure in his head to slowly build up causing terrible headaches and other symptoms like memory loss, seizures, one-sided weakness, confusion, and blindness. If the bleeding doesn't stop, it's going to kill him and there's nothing Hershel can do for him."

Glenn's eyes got wide. "But, but he told me to hit him! He told me to! He said I got one free shot and that it would make me feel better!"

Rick sighed. That was exactly what he would expect the 'Daryl Dixon Anger Management Solution' to be. Feeling angry? So mad that you could spit nails? Just hit, throw or smash something! "Did it make you feel better?" he asked.

"Truthfully? Yeah, a bit."

Rick raised his eyebrows. At least the kid was honest. "Daryl says he only kissed Maggie and that he never slept with her. I believe him." Rick said. Glenn started to interrupt and Rick raised his hand to shush him. "I just want to go on record saying that if you're going to end things with Maggie over a kiss, then you're a fool. Daryl thinks so, too."

Glenn looked miserable again. "Daryl said I'd be a fool if I broke things off with Maggie?"

Rick scratched his chin, "I think 'fuckin' moron' were the words he used. Anyway, Daryl's going to be leaving. I'm not happy about it but I promised him I'd help him pack up his truck. I need you to help me with that."

"Daryl still wants to leave? He's not well enough to go and besides, Andrea is never going to allow that." Glenn said shaking his head.

Rick gave Glenn a confused look.

"Daryl tried to pack up his truck before," Glenn explained, "and Andrea took everything back out of it and put it away in his room."

Rick sighed. "Why did she do that?"

Glenn fidgeted. "She's got a thing for Daryl. She doesn't want him to leave."

Rick rolled his eyes. "I thought Carol had a thing for Daryl," he said.

"She does." Glenn said. "It seems most of the women do, God knows why. He's grumpy and antisocial most of the time. He's like a reluctant Romeo."

Rick smiled. "So what is this place, romance central?"

Glenn smiled back at Rick, "I don't know. Things seem better with you and Lori and have you noticed how Carl looks at Beth?"

"Don't even go there," Rick warned. "Now here's the deal. I'll talk with Daryl tomorrow and start making arrangements to get everything he needs. I'm going to load him up with firearms and ammo, too, as well as a good supply of food and gas. You are not to let anyone else know about this. Once I'm sure of what his plans are and when he wants to leave, I'll let you know. You'll be responsible for distracting Andrea when Daryl's ready to leave."

"What? How?" Glenn asked.

"I don't know, ask her to take you fishing or something." Rick suggested. "Now I'm going to go back upstairs and get to bed. I suggest you do the same instead of moping on the couch."

Glenn watched Rick go back up the stairs and decided that maybe he was right. After all, Rick had apparently forgiven Lori for a lot worse than what Maggie had done. He sighed. Maybe he needed to think things over before he ended his relationship with her.

Glenn walked up the stairs to his room. He could hear someone in the bathroom he passed brushing their teeth and he figured it was probably Rick. He flipped on the light switch when he entered his room. Maggie wasn't there and her favorite pillow was gone, too. Glenn leaned back against the door and sighed. She had probably gone upstairs to spend the night in the living quarters room with her father and her sister. What a mess he'd made of things. He shut off the light and made his way over to the bed before undressing and crawling beneath the blanket. He replayed what had happened with Daryl over in his mind and it made him feel ill. Daryl had gone out of his way to save his ass at the Greene's farm and how did Glenn repay him? Glenn felt like a first class jerk.

* * *

Maggie stepped out of the bathroom holding her pillow under one arm. She had just finished brushing her teeth and she quietly padded down the hall in her white bunny slippers. She shut off the light at the end of the hall and went down the stairs. She expected to see Glenn in the great room camped out on one of the big leather sofas but he was nowhere to be seen. She stepped into the hallway and stopped in front of Daryl's door. After hesitating for a moment, she knocked. There was no answer and she turned the doorknob, expecting to find the door locked. It wasn't.

* * *

Daryl was on his back in his bed with his right arm draped over his eyes. "Go to bed," he grumbled without moving his arm or making any attempt to see who had stepped into his room without his permission. "'S late an' visitin' hours is over."

"Can I just sit in here for a little while?" Maggie asked. "I promise that I'll be quiet."

Daryl lifted his head slightly and moved his arm so he could peek at her out from under it. He immediately wished he hadn't. Maggie was wearing a lacy purple nightgown with a plunging neckline. The gown wasn't very long, the hem falling at the middle of her thighs. He thought she looked absolutely stunning. "Glenn don't need to find you in here. I already gave him a free shot an' one's all he gets." He lowered his head and covered his eyes again. "I don't need to be givin' him a reason to want to hit me again."

Maggie entered the room anyway and closed the door behind her. She sat down on the chair by the closet. "I'm sorry."

"Yeah, yeah, everyone's sorry. Get back to your room. I gotta haul my ass into the shower before I turn in for the rest a the night." He didn't want her prancing around in his room wearing that nightgown or, even as crappy as he was feeling, he'd need a cold shower. He tried to make his brain associate the sight of Maggie with the feeling of the strike from Glenn. Negative reinforcement could be a good thing sometimes.

Maggie had noticed how dirty Daryl was when she had helped him to his room earlier that night. "I noticed that you seemed a bit…dusty. Were you playing in the dirt?"

Daryl sat up and slid over to the side of the bed. "No, I did some diggin'." He stood up and held the bed to steady himself. He was tired and a bit dizzy, but his headache had receded and his head had cleared. "Now run along," he said, waving his arms at her in a 'shooing' motion like she was some sort of animal.

"Are you 'shooing' me?" Maggie asked with a hint of amusement.

"Yes, yes I am," he said as he shuffled toward the bathroom.

"Why were you digging?" Maggie asked as the bathroom door closed.

"'Cause it's fun," came the sarcastic voice from behind the bathroom door.

Maggie didn't push the issue.

Daryl stood in front of the sink and looked in the mirror. He was tired and he wanted to just crawl into bed, but he'd sobered up quite a bit and he'd be damned if he'd get under the sheets as dirty as he was. He really needed a shower.

"Didn't used to bother you before to go to bed filthy." Imaginary Merle huffed. "And what the hell is up with lettin' the chink hit you? You goin' soft, boy?"

"I kissed his girlfriend, I deserved more an' he gave me." Daryl mumbled.

"You're such a pussy, Darleena. Usin' that logic, you more an' deserved what Bud did ta you."

"Never said I didn't deserve it."

"Who are you talking to?" Maggie's voice asked from the other side of the door.

"Myself," Daryl snapped. "An' it's the most intelligent conversation I've had all day. Now go 'way."

Maggie went and sat back down in the chair.

"All those years I tried to make a man outta ya. Least you're leavin' the group a parasites. 'Bout time you came lookin' for ol' Merle."

"Works both ways, brother. You coulda come lookin' for me, too, you know. You chose not to. You knew where I was and you jest lit out alone. Abandoned me. Left me with this group a people I don't belong with. I ain't gonna look for ya."

Imaginary Merle shut his imaginary mouth at that.

Daryl inspected his new bruise in the mirror. Glenn had hit him hard, but there was no swelling. Daryl figured it was because the bone was so close to the skin in the temple area that there wasn't much tissue there to swell. He slowly undressed and started the shower. What the hell was Maggie doing in his room? Why hadn't he locked the door? He didn't want her there and he was quite sure that Glenn wouldn't be any too happy about her being there either.

He leaned against the shower wall to steady himself and watched the water near his feet turn brown and swirl down the drain as the dirt and dust was rinsed off his body. He noticed that the waterproof patch over his open wound still clung to his skin, keeping his dressing from getting wet. That was a relief. He moved stiffly and slowly as he soaped himself up. His muscles and his back ached from all the shoveling he had done, but he didn't mind. He almost enjoyed the aches brought on by hard physical labor. He smirked. Did that make him some sort of masochist?

Daryl started to think about Andrea. She was a beautiful woman and he liked her but he knew that she had only gotten physical with him because she was drunk. She would wake up tomorrow and regret everything and that would make things really awkward. Andrea wanted to go with him when he left. He still didn't quite get that. He was flattered, but there was no way in hell that he was going to allow it. Taking care of himself on the road to Maine was going to be a full time job. He was bound to run into walkers and probably some humans as well and he didn't need the added responsibility of keeping Andrea safe. She'd probably talk his ear off as he drove and that in itself would drive him half mad. No, there was no way in hell he was taking her with him.

Daryl shut off the water and grabbed a towel. He went through his regular drying off routine, (okay, so he did have a slight case of OCD, nothing wrong with that, right?) and wrapped a towel around his waist.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, he noticed Maggie wasn't sitting in the chair anymore and he felt relief wash over him, until he saw where she was sitting on his bed. "Thought I told you to go ta bed," he snapped.

Maggie bit her bottom lip and then said, "Glenn is through with me. He's kicking me out of his room. Can't I just sit here with you? Please?" She had tears in her eyes and she brought up a hand to wipe them away.

"This whole mess is my fault. China, he's jest really mad right now, he'll change his mind an' want you back tomorrow."

"No, it's my fault. I'm the one that got naked." Maggie sniffed.

"I kissed you. That's what he's super pissed about. Never shoulda."

Maggie's eyes got wide. "You told him that you kissed me?"

"That ain't why he's got his panties in a bunch to begin with?" Daryl was confused.

Maggie shook her head. "I didn't tell him about that. I told him I took my clothes off so you could see me naked. He asked if you'd touched me, and I tried to explain that _I _had touched _you_, but he stormed out of the room before I could. If I had known that he'd confront you, I would have made more of an effort to set him straight."

Daryl sat down on the edge of his bed and replayed the argument with Glenn in his mind. Glenn had accused him of making a move on Maggie. Glenn obviously thought he had touched Maggie when she was naked. Daryl hadn't known that and thought Maggie had told Glenn that he'd kissed her. Glenn had told Daryl that he couldn't hit him, he was more sad then mad, but the minute Daryl had mentioned kissing Maggie, Glenn had clobbered him. It made sense now.

"We're good now, me an' China. He got his hit in, I got what I deserved. We can all move on." Daryl explained.

"You didn't deserve to be attacked." Maggie insisted. She ran her eyes across the scars on Daryl's back and then on the two demons that frolicked up to his shoulder on the right side of it. She saw a muscle next to one of the demons twitch and another one in a different area did the same.

Daryl stood up, still holding the towel around his waist and walked over to his long dresser. He pulled a pair of black boxer briefs out of the top drawer. "Don't matter now, what's done is done," he said. "but you gotta get outta my room, Maggie. I need to get to bed."

He turned and she was still sitting there and she made no effort to get up and leave, so he went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He hung the towel he'd had around his waist on the back of the door and stepped into his boxer briefs. When he stepped out of the bathroom, Maggie was still sitting on his bed. Before he could reprimand her for failing to comply with his order to leave, Maggie smiled at him and patted the bed.

"C'mere, Tiger. Your back hurts, just let me massage it a bit for you and then I'll leave," she said.

Daryl narrowed his eyes at her. "How'd you know my back hurts?" he asked.

"You're having muscle spasms in your back. You don't have any fat over your muscles. I could see them spasming."

Daryl considered her offer. It was extremely tempting, but it would be wrong and he didn't think he could handle feeling her hands moving across his back. "No," he said, "I can't have you touchin' me an' I don't mind a few more aches an' pains, now you need to leave so I can get some sleep." He walked over and opened the door and held it open.

Maggie looked at the open door and then at him. "Are you sure? You know how good I am at back massages."

Did he ever. Daryl sighed. "Maybe some other time, now please, jest go. I think we've all had enough excitement for one night. I know I have."

Maggie bit her bottom lip and slid off the bed and said, "Okay." She walked to the door and stopped in front of him. "Goodnight Tiger." she whispered, and she reached up and kissed Daryl on the cheek.

Daryl closed the door behind her and shut off the light. He sat on his bed for a few moments before crawling beneath the covers and closing his eyes. He would be leaving this place within the next couple of days and he would miss this big, comfortable bed. He started feeling guilty about his decision not to look for Merle. Maybe he should swing over to Fort Benning first to see if Merle was there before he started out for Maine. It would only set him back a few days and even if Merle wasn't there Daryl could at least tell himself that he'd made an effort to try to find his brother. He yawned and drifted off to sleep.


	78. Chapter 78

Daryl slept late. It was after 10am when a coughing fit abruptly pulled him from a sound sleep. His eyes flew open as he woke and he quickly released the pillow he had been hugging to his chest as he coughed and hacked violently. He swallowed between bouts of coughing and the coppery taste of blood made his stomach roll. He slipped out of bed and quickly stumbled to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet just in time to flip up the seat and vomit. The water in the toilet bowl turned bright red and he coughed and gagged and threw up blood again. Daryl could feel dried blood on his cheek and he ran his hand across the right side of his face and pulled away bloody fingers. He figured that his nose had started bleeding again while he was asleep and some of the blood had trickled down his throat. He slid over and leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Just one more thing to deal with.

He suddenly realized that his head didn't ache. Not at all. He opened his eyes and damned if his right eye could see as well as his left again. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back so it rested on the bathroom wall behind him. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a hint of a smile. Daryl kept his eyes closed and clenched both his fists. His left hand was still weaker than the right, but not by much. Maybe those pills Hershel had given him to take were actually helping. He got up slowly and stood in front of the sink, daring to peek into the mirror. The right side of his face was bloody, some of it had dried and appeared as dark maroon lines running through fresher, damp red patches. The bruise on the right side of Daryl's face was in full bloom and the one surrounding the stitches in his forehead was starting to turn yellowish brown.

"Ain't you just the prettiest cowgirl at the dance." Imaginary Merle laughed.

Daryl washed his face and considered shaving for a moment, then decided not to. Why bother?

"Either way, you still look like shit. You ain't never been able to grow a decent beard, Patchy."

It was true. Daryl's' facial hair stubbornly refused to grow into a proper looking beard. His mustache grew in properly, but only a patch would grow directly beneath the middle of his lower lip. The patch was connected to the goatee on his chin. No facial hair grew along his jawline, but a smattering of wiry whiskers grew on the sides of his face below his cheekbones and trailed down to meet the hair on his chin. The whole thing was rather scraggly looking but that suited Daryl just fine.

As Daryl exited the bathroom he wondered if Imaginary Merle would disappear if he ever found Real Merle. He hoped so, because two of them would drive him nuts.

He found the pillow his head had rested on during the night and curled his lip as he examined the large red bloody spot now staining it. "No getting' that out" he said to himself. The pillowcase could probably be salvaged if a lot of bleach was used in the wash but the down pillow was beyond help. Down pillows; weren't they wonderful? Daryl smiled to himself. When he had loaded up his truck to leave the first time, he had taken all of the pillows off his bed and stuffed them into the vehicle. How stupid was that? He'd need just two, one for him and one for Merle, if he found him. No, three, he had to have one to hug at night. He had only developed that habit after moving into this house with it's huge bed and it's big soft pillows. He figured that this newer habit was some sort of self-comforting action and he was ashamed of it, but not so much that he was willing to give it up.

Daryl fished the two bottles of pills that Hershel had given him out of the drawer of the nightstand and took one of each of them. If they were what was behind the improvement in how he felt, he was going to make damned sure he took them with more regularity than he took the other medications Hershel had given him in the recent past.

His muscles still ached, but it was a good ache brought about by physical labor. The facts that his head felt clear, his eyes were both behaving properly and the strength in his left side appeared to be returning put him into what could almost be considered a good mood. Daryl made up his mind that today was going to be a good day. He pulled on a pair of jeans and threaded his belt through the loops as he made plans. He would sneak a few things out to his truck when he was sure that Andrea wasn't snooping about and then finish loading it after everyone had retired for the night. There would be no long and drawn out goodbyes and no Andrea rooted to the passenger seat in his truck when he made his escape. Escape? Is that what he was seeing it as now?

* * *

Daryl was just buttoning up a green and tan sleeveless shirt when there was a knock on his door. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah?" he asked the door.

"Daryl, it's Hershel. May I come in, please?"

Daryl opened the door for Hershel and the white-haired man entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Daryl noticed that Hershel was holding his black leather medical bag and he moved his gaze from the bag that Hershel was now placing on his dresser to the older man. "What are you plannin' on doin' with that?" Daryl asked and he jerked a thumb towards the bag.

Hershel shrugged. "I thought I'd hit you over the head with it a few times seeing as I've heard that you're giving people permission to do that sort of thing."

Daryl smirked. "Talk with Glenn, did ya?"

Hershel unlatched the medical bag and opened it. "No, it was actually Rick who made me aware of your latest feat of incredible stupidity," he said flatly.

"Ooh," said Daryl, "so you're here to give me a lecture."

"No, no lecture. I know I'd get better results standing and talking to a cement wall, so I won't waste my time," Hershel said as he pulled a stethoscope from his bag and took the miserable little pen light from his shirt pocket. "Now if you'll take off your shirt and sit on the edge of the bed, I can get started."

Daryl was puzzled. "Started with what?" He narrowed his eyes at Hershel and said, "You ain't plannin' on dopin' me up again, are you?"

Hershel sighed. "While I considered the idea when Rick told me of your plan to bump up your departure, no, I am not going to 'dope you up' again."

Daryl unbuttoned and removed his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed. "So what's this all about?" he asked.

Hershel pressed the ice cold diaphragm of his stethoscope against Daryl's bare chest and Daryl jumped. "Damn," he griped. "Wha'd you do? Pull that thing out of the freezer?"

"Yes." Hershel answered. "It was in there right next to the speculums." Daryl cocked an eyebrow. He'd have to look up what a speculum was later. Hershel listened to Daryl's heart for what seemed to Daryl to be a long time and then he flipped on the penlight and started shining it into Daryl's eyes. "How are you feeling today and don't you dare get riled up because I'm asking."

Daryl bit his lip to keep from smiling. "I'm actually feelin' pretty good. No headache right now, visions cleared up, left side's feelin' stronger."

Hershel pulled the penlight away from in front of Daryl's right eye and Daryl blinked as the spots in his eyes caused by the damned light slowly faded.

Hershel smiled. "Is that so? Well, that is very good news." He put the penlight back in his pocket and stretched out his hands towards Daryl. "Squeeze my hands, and try to do it with equal pressure." He instructed.

Daryl squeezed Hershel's hands and the older man actually chuckled. "Very good, very good." Hershel noticed the blood stained pillow and pointed to it with alarm. "Where were you bleeding from?" he demanded.

Daryl raised his eyebrows at Hershel's sudden change of demeanor. "My nose, I guess. Had a nosebleed last night. I woke up this mornin' an' it felt like I was chokin' on blood that had run down the back a my throat. Coughed my guts out and threw up."

It was Hershel's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Did you experience any sharp pains in your head after or while you were coughing and vomiting?"

Daryl shook his head. "Nope."

"Do you feel light-headed at all right now?" Hershel asked.

"Nah, not at all. Why?"

"Because a release of pressure and blood like what you've experienced should have killed you. The pressure build up would have caused a rupture and the surrounding brain tissue would have been damaged or destroyed. It appears that a rupture occurred near your sinuses."

"Does that mean I'm gonna be okay and that subdural bleedin' is gone?" Daryl asked hopefully.

"Sadly, no. I mean, it might, but what it really means is that the pressure build up caused by the subdural bleeding as been relieved, at least for now. If you start experiencing symptoms again; headaches, one sided weakness, vision changes, it means the bleeding is still occurring and the pressure in your head is building up again."

Daryl sighed. "Guess ah picked a good time to leave then. I'll be long gone before pressure builds up again an' causes problems."

Hershel nodded and put his stethoscope back in his bag and said, "Are you sure about this, son? Are you sure you want to leave?"

Daryl nodded.

"I won't try to stop you then." Hershel said and damned if he didn't sound a bit sad.

"Would you please fetch me a basin and some betadine? I'm going to stitch up your abdominal wound," the old vet said as he pulled a suture kit from his bag.

Daryl rushed to do as he was asked, which caused Hershel to smile to himself.

Daryl bit his lower lip as Hershel slowly extracted the small amount of packing from his open wound. It was extremely painful and he yelped when Hershel pushed a cotton swab against the shallow walls of the wound. He blushed with embarrassment and mentally berated himself for being such a pussy.

"This really should be packed daily and allowed to heal for another week," Hershel commented. "You're going to have a permanent indentation here if this heals properly and I can't promise that it will. There is the possibility that you'll end up with a dead spot that gets infected," he said as he prepared to stitch up the open wound.

"I'll keep it as clean as I can, an' I don't care 'bout an indentation. I ain't gonna be competin' in any Mr. Universe contests or nothin'," Daryl answered.

Hershel smiled. Such sarcasm.

Daryl flinched with the first stab and pull of the needle through his flesh, and then closed his eyes and kept himself still while Hershel sutured his wound. When he was finished, Daryl sat up and Hershel checked the sutures in his forehead and on his left forearm. "These look good," he told the hunter. "You should be able to take them out in a week to ten days. Just remember to keep the areas clean, you might want to keep a bandage over the stitches before you take them out once you start….traveling."

Daryl nodded.

"Make sure you take the pills I gave you. It would appear that they are helping you." Hershel instructed as he returned the suture kit to his medical bag. He turned to Daryl and met his blue eyes with his own. "Your leaving doesn't have anything to do with my daughter does it?" he asked.

"No." Daryl answered immediately. "I know I told you that I didn't have my eye on 'er, but to be honest with you, things 'ave changed since then and I can't promise I'd be able to keep away from 'er if I stayed here; but she ain't the reason I'm leavin'."

Hershel had expected that things had changed between Daryl and Maggie and he admired Daryl's honesty.

"You're a good man," Hershel said. "and while your desire to head north causes me to question the sanity of your planned course of action, I certainly admire your audacity and determination." and the older man extended his hand to Daryl.

Daryl looked at Hershel's hand for a few seconds before extending his own. The older man was offering to shake his hand for the second time in so many days and Daryl felt oddly honored by this gesture. He took Hershel's hand and the older man surprised him when he pulled him into a hug and patted him on the back before quickly releasing him.

"You take care of yourself, son," Hershel said, "and please know that you're always welcome to stay with me if you decide to return. I'm hoping to be back in my own home before too long."

Daryl was touched and completely unnerved by Hershel's kind offer and show of affection and he blushed slightly as he fidgeted and quietly said, "Thank you."

* * *

Hershel left the room and Daryl finished dressing and grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder after loading the bolt holder. He exited his room and stepped out onto the porch and his stomach growled. He realized then just how hungry he was. He was surprised and very pleased that he wasn't hung over and that he actually had an appetite. Daryl stepped through the back door into the kitchen. He was so damned hungry that he decided he didn't care if anyone was in there or not; he needed something to eat. Carol was washing dishes and Dale was talking with her as he leaned against the kitchen island, sipping a cup of coffee as Daryl entered the room. Both became silent as Daryl sauntered over to the refrigerator and neither of them would look at him. Daryl pulled a jug of powdered milk that had been mixed out of the 'fridge and put it on the shelf. He yanked a mixing bowl out of one of the cupboards by the sink and then rummaged around in a cupboard shelf crammed full with cereal boxes until he found what he was looking for. Carl had hidden the Capn' Crunch with Crunchberries in the back of the cupboard along with a few other sugar loaded varieties of cereal in the hopes that no one else would get into them. Carl and Daryl had both called dibs on the boxes of Capn' Crunch. 'Nice try.' Daryl thought as he extracted the box from it's hiding place and proceeded to empty what was left in it into his bowl. He could feel Dale staring at him and he turned around quickly and caught him in the act. "Whatcha lookin' at?" Daryl asked grumpily.

Dale's face reddened. "Nothing," he said nervously.

Daryl raised his eyebrows at Dale and then turned back to his cereal. He dumped some milk into the bowl and then grabbed a spoon out of the silverware drawer. Carol still hadn't said a word to him and when he looked in her direction, he caught her giving him a disapproving look over her shoulder before she quickly turned back to the dishes. Daryl suddenly understood what was going on. He shoved the milk jug back into the refrigerator and grabbed his bowl of Capn' Crunch and stomped over to the back door. As he stepped out onto the porch, he looked back at Dale. Dale had been watching him again and Daryl caught a glimpse of the same disapproving look Carol had worn before Dale turned his head away.

Damn, that pissed him off. "You know, Dale," Daryl said angrily, "you shouldn't believe ever'thin' you hear."

Carol's head immediately jerked around to look at Daryl and she dropped her eyes when hers met the cold arctic blue ones that were glaring at her.

"An' you shouldn't be tellin' stories 'bout things you don't know nothin' 'bout." he snarled and he slammed the door.

He sat in the rocking chair on the porch and wolfed down the cereal. He had wanted a cup of coffee but there was no way he was going to stay in the kitchen with those two judgmental jerks for the time it took to make one. He would just have to get one later after the kitchen had been vacated. There was no one in the back yard and he could hear voices and splashing coming from the front of the house. He placed his empty bowl and spoon on the bench next to the rocking chair. Hopefully, Dale and Carol would go and join the people on the deck so he could sneak into the kitchen, take care of his dishes, and grab a much needed cup of coffee.

"I'll send out a search party an' help ya find your balls." Imaginary Merle was completely disgusted. "Aint' this your fuckin' house? You'er not a man, you're a scared little girl! Hidin' out here an' waiting 'til the grownups leave the room afore you dare to go in. You're _pathetic_. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Daryl bit his bottom lip. Imaginary Merle was right. He shot up out of the rocking chair, snapped up his bowl and spoon and marched purposefully to the kitchen door and yanked it open. He stomped loudly and defiantly into the kitchen, but there was no one there to witness his bold entrance. Daryl brewed himself a cup of coffee while he washed his bowl and spoon. He drank his coffee as he leaned against the kitchen counter then readjusted his crossbow before leaving the house again. He left the fenced in back yard and walked to the meadow where he had dug the large hole the day before. As he got closer to the boulder he slid his crossbow off his shoulder, raised and steadied it in front of him. Someone was behind the boulder near the hole. He figured that it was one of the group members, but one could never be too careful. He stalked silently the last ten feet to the rock and then climbed quietly upon it and brought up his bow.

Maggie looked up from where she was sitting against the rock. "What the hell is this?" she asked him as she motioned towards the hole.

Daryl lowered his bow and sat down on the rock above Maggie. "Looks like a hole to me," he replied.

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. "It looks like a grave to me. Is someone we know dying?"

Daryl started chewing on his thumbnail and thought for a second, then replied, "We're all dyin'. Been dyin' since the day we was born."

Maggie threw up her hands. "Oh, stop that it with that philosophical crap! You know what I mean. You're not thinking of killing yourself are you?"

Daryl snorted, "Of course not."

Maggie searched his eyes, looking for any indication that he was lying. He didn't move his eyes from hers, didn't look away or down and she was convinced that he was telling the truth. "Come sit with me for a bit." she said as she reached up and offered him her hand. "Sit with me and talk a bit and then I'll help you load your truck."


	79. Chapter 79

Daryl slept late. It was after 10am when a coughing fit abruptly pulled him from a sound sleep. His eyes flew open as he woke and he quickly released the pillow he had been hugging to his chest as he coughed and hacked violently. He swallowed between bouts of coughing and the coppery taste of blood made his stomach roll. He slipped out of bed and quickly stumbled to the bathroom, falling to his knees in front of the toilet just in time to flip up the seat and vomit. The water in the toilet bowl turned bright red and he coughed and gagged and threw up blood again. Daryl could feel dried blood on his cheek and he ran his hand across the right side of his face and pulled away bloody fingers. He figured that his nose had started bleeding again while he was asleep and some of the blood had trickled down his throat. He slid over and leaned against the wall and closed his eyes. Just one more thing to deal with.

He suddenly realized that his head didn't ache. Not at all. He opened his eyes and damned if his right eye could see as well as his left again. He closed his eyes again and leaned his head back so it rested on the bathroom wall behind him. The corners of his mouth turned up slightly in a hint of a smile. Daryl kept his eyes closed and clenched both his fists. His left hand was still weaker than the right, but not by much. Maybe those pills Hershel had given him to take were actually helping. He got up slowly and stood in front of the sink, daring to peek into the mirror. The right side of his face was bloody, some of it had dried and appeared as dark maroon lines running through fresher, damp red patches. The bruise on the right side of Daryl's face was in full bloom and the one surrounding the stitches in his forehead was starting to turn yellowish brown.

"Ain't you just the prettiest cowgirl at the dance." Imaginary Merle laughed.

Daryl washed his face and considered shaving for a moment, then decided not to. Why bother?

"Either way, you still look like shit. You ain't never been able to grow a decent beard, Patchy."

It was true. Daryl's' facial hair stubbornly refused to grow into a proper looking beard. His mustache grew in properly, but only a patch would grow directly beneath the middle of his lower lip. The patch was connected to the goatee on his chin. No facial hair grew along his jawline, but a smattering of wiry whiskers grew on the sides of his face below his cheekbones and trailed down to meet the hair on his chin. The whole thing was rather scraggly looking but that suited Daryl just fine.

As Daryl exited the bathroom he wondered if Imaginary Merle would disappear if he ever found Real Merle. He hoped so, because two of them would drive him nuts.

He found the pillow his head had rested on during the night and curled his lip as he examined the large red bloody spot now staining it. "No getting' that out" he said to himself. The pillowcase could probably be salvaged if a lot of bleach was used in the wash but the down pillow was beyond help. Down pillows; weren't they wonderful? Daryl smiled to himself. When he had loaded up his truck to leave the first time, he had taken all of the pillows off his bed and stuffed them into the vehicle. How stupid was that? He'd need just two, one for him and one for Merle, if he found him. No, three, he had to have one to hug at night. He had only developed that habit after moving into this house with its huge bed and its big soft pillows. He figured that this newer habit was some sort of self-comforting action and he was ashamed of it, but not so much that he was willing to give it up.

Daryl fished the two bottles of pills that Hershel had given him out of the drawer of the nightstand and took one of each of them. If they were what was behind the improvement in how he felt, he was going to make damned sure he took them with more regularity than he took the other medications Hershel had given him in the recent past.

His muscles still ached, but it was a good ache brought about by physical labor. The facts that his head felt clear, his eyes were both behaving properly and the strength in his left side appeared to be returning put him into what could almost be considered a good mood. Daryl made up his mind that today was going to be a good day. He pulled on a pair of jeans and threaded his belt through the loops as he made plans. He would sneak a few things out to his truck when he was sure that Andrea wasn't snooping about and then finish loading it after everyone had retired for the night. There would be no long and drawn out goodbyes and no Andrea rooted to the passenger seat in his truck when he made his escape. Escape? Is that what he was seeing it as now?

* * *

Daryl was just buttoning up a green and tan sleeveless shirt when there was a knock on his door. He rolled his eyes. "Yeah?" he asked the door.

"Daryl, it's Hershel. May I come in, please?"

Daryl opened the door for Hershel and the white-haired man entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Daryl noticed that Hershel was holding his black leather medical bag and he moved his gaze from the bag that Hershel was now placing on his dresser to the older man. "What are you plannin' on doin' with that?" Daryl asked and he jerked a thumb towards the bag.

Hershel shrugged. "I thought I'd hit you over the head with it a few times seeing as I've heard that you're giving people permission to do that sort of thing."

Daryl smirked. "Talk with Glenn, did ya?"

Hershel unlatched the medical bag and opened it. "No, it was actually Rick who made me aware of your latest feat of incredible stupidity," he said flatly.

"Ooh," said Daryl, "so you're here to give me a lecture."

"No, no lecture. I know I'd get better results standing and talking to a cement wall, so I won't waste my time," Hershel said as he pulled a stethoscope from his bag and took the miserable little pen light from his shirt pocket. "Now if you'll take off your shirt and sit on the edge of the bed, I can get started."

Daryl was puzzled. "Started with what?" He narrowed his eyes at Hershel and said, "You ain't plannin' on dopin' me up again, are you?"

Hershel sighed. "While I considered the idea when Rick told me of your plan to bump up your departure, no, I am not going to 'dope you up' again."

Daryl unbuttoned and removed his shirt and sat on the edge of the bed. "So what's this all about?" he asked.

Hershel pressed the ice cold diaphragm of his stethoscope against Daryl's bare chest and Daryl jumped. "Damn," he griped. "Wha'd you do? Pull that thing out of the freezer?"

"Yes." Hershel answered. "It was in there right next to the speculums." Daryl cocked an eyebrow. He'd have to look up what a speculum was later. Hershel listened to Daryl's heart for what seemed to Daryl to be a long time and then he flipped on the penlight and started shining it into Daryl's eyes. "How are you feeling today and don't you dare get riled up because I'm asking."

Daryl bit his lip to keep from smiling. "I'm actually feelin' pretty good. No headache right now, vision's cleared up, left side's feelin' stronger."

Hershel pulled the penlight away from in front of Daryl's right eye and Daryl blinked as the spots in his eyes caused by the damned light slowly faded.

Hershel smiled. "Is that so? Well, that is very good news." He put the penlight back in his pocket and stretched out his hands towards Daryl. "Squeeze my hands, and try to do it with equal pressure." He instructed.

Daryl squeezed Hershel's hands and the older man actually chuckled. "Very good, very good." Hershel noticed the blood stained pillow and pointed to it with alarm. "Where were you bleeding from?" he demanded.

Daryl raised his eyebrows at Hershel's sudden change of demeanor. "My nose, I guess. Had a nosebleed last night. I woke up this mornin' an' it felt like I was chokin' on blood that had run down the back a my throat. Coughed my guts out and threw up."

It was Hershel's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Did you experience any sharp pains in your head after or while you were coughing and vomiting?"

Daryl shook his head. "Nope."

"Do you feel light-headed at all right now?" Hershel asked.

"Nah, not at all. Why?"

"Because a release of pressure and blood like what you've experienced should have killed you. The pressure build up would have caused a rupture and the surrounding brain tissue would have been damaged or destroyed. It appears that a rupture occurred near your sinuses."

"Does that mean I'm gonna be okay and that subdural bleedin' is gone?" Daryl asked hopefully.

"Sadly, no. I mean, it might, but what it really means is that the pressure build up caused by the subdural bleeding has been relieved, at least for now. If you start experiencing symptoms again; headaches, one sided weakness, vision changes, it means the bleeding is still occurring and the pressure in your head is building up again."

Daryl sighed. "Guess I picked a good time to leave then. I'll be long gone before pressure builds up again an' causes problems."

Hershel nodded and put his stethoscope back in his bag and said, "Are you sure about this, son? Are you sure you want to leave?"

Daryl nodded.

"I won't try to stop you then." Hershel said and damned if he didn't sound a bit sad.

"Would you please fetch me a basin and some betadine? I'm going to stitch up your abdominal wound," the old vet said as he pulled a suture kit from his bag.

Daryl rushed to do as he was asked, which caused Hershel to smile to himself.

Daryl bit his lower lip as Hershel slowly extracted the small amount of packing from his open wound. It was extremely painful and he yelped when Hershel pushed a cotton swab against the shallow walls of the wound. He blushed with embarrassment and mentally berated himself for being such a pussy.

"This really should be packed daily and allowed to heal for another week," Hershel commented. "You're going to have a permanent indentation here if this heals properly and I can't promise that it will. There is the possibility that you'll end up with a dead spot that gets infected," he said as he prepared to stitch up the open wound.

"I'll keep it as clean as I can, an' I don't care 'bout an indentation. I ain't gonna be competin' in any Mr. Universe contests or nothin'," Daryl answered.

Hershel smiled. Such sarcasm.

Daryl flinched with the first stab and pull of the needle through his flesh, and then closed his eyes and kept himself still while Hershel sutured his wound. When he was finished, Daryl sat up and Hershel checked the sutures in his forehead and on his left forearm. "These look good," he told the hunter. "You should be able to take them out in a week to ten days. Just remember to keep the areas clean, you might want to keep a bandage over the stitches before you take them out once you start….traveling."

Daryl nodded.

"Make sure you take the pills I gave you. It would appear that they are helping you." Hershel instructed as he returned the suture kit to his medical bag. He turned to Daryl and met his blue eyes with his own. "Your leaving doesn't have anything to do with my daughter does it?" he asked.

"No." Daryl answered immediately. "I know I told you that I didn't have my eye on 'er, but to be honest with you, things 'ave changed since then and I can't promise I'd be able to keep away from 'er if I stayed here; but she ain't the reason I'm leavin'."

Hershel had expected that things had changed between Daryl and Maggie and he admired Daryl's honesty.

"You're a good man," Hershel said. "and while your desire to head north causes me to question the sanity of your planned course of action, I certainly admire your audacity and determination." and the older man extended his hand to Daryl.

Daryl looked at Hershel's hand for a few seconds before extending his own. The older man was offering to shake his hand for the second time in so many days and Daryl felt oddly honored by this gesture. He took Hershel's hand and the older man surprised him when he pulled him into a hug and patted him on the back before quickly releasing him.

"You take care of yourself, son," Hershel said, "and please know that you're always welcome to stay with me if you decide to return. I'm hoping to be back in my own home before too long."

Daryl was touched and completely unnerved by Hershel's kind offer and show of affection and he blushed slightly as he fidgeted and quietly said, "Thank you."

* * *

Hershel left the room and Daryl finished dressing and grabbed his crossbow and slung it over his shoulder after loading the bolt holder. He exited his room and stepped out onto the porch and his stomach growled. He realized then just how hungry he was. He was surprised and very pleased that he wasn't hung over and that he actually had an appetite. Daryl stepped through the back door into the kitchen. He was so damned hungry that he decided he didn't care if anyone was in there or not; he needed something to eat. Carol was washing dishes and Dale was talking with her as he leaned against the kitchen island, sipping a cup of coffee as Daryl entered the room. Both became silent as Daryl sauntered over to the refrigerator and neither of them would look at him. Daryl pulled a jug of powdered milk that had been mixed out of the 'fridge and put it on the shelf. He yanked a mixing bowl out of one of the cupboards by the sink and then rummaged around in a cupboard shelf crammed full with cereal boxes until he found what he was looking for. Carl had hidden the Capn' Crunch with Crunchberries in the back of the cupboard along with a few other sugar loaded varieties of cereal in the hopes that no one else would get into them. Carl and Daryl had both called dibs on the boxes of Capn' Crunch. 'Nice try.' Daryl thought as he extracted the box from it's hiding place and proceeded to empty what was left in it into his bowl. He could feel Dale staring at him and he turned around quickly and caught him in the act. "Whatcha lookin' at?" Daryl asked grumpily.

Dale's face reddened. "Nothing," he said nervously.

Daryl raised his eyebrows at Dale and then turned back to his cereal. He dumped some milk into the bowl and then grabbed a spoon out of the silverware drawer. Carol still hadn't said a word to him and when he looked in her direction, he caught her giving him a disapproving look over her shoulder before she quickly turned back to the dishes. Daryl suddenly understood what was going on. He shoved the milk jug back into the refrigerator and grabbed his bowl of Capn' Crunch and stomped over to the back door. As he stepped out onto the porch, he looked back at Dale. Dale had been watching him again and Daryl caught a glimpse of the same disapproving look Carol had worn before Dale turned his head away.

Damn, that pissed him off. "You know, Dale," Daryl said angrily, "you shouldn't believe ever'thin' you hear."

Carol's head immediately jerked around to look at Daryl and she dropped her eyes when hers met the cold arctic blue ones that were glaring at her.

"An' you shouldn't be tellin' stories 'bout things you don't know nothin' 'bout." he snarled and he slammed the door.

He sat in the rocking chair on the porch and wolfed down the cereal. He had wanted a cup of coffee but there was no way he was going to stay in the kitchen with those two judgmental jerks for the time it took to make one. He would just have to get one later after the kitchen had been vacated. There was no one in the back yard and he could hear voices and splashing coming from the front of the house. He placed his empty bowl and spoon on the bench next to the rocking chair. Hopefully, Dale and Carol would go and join the people on the deck so he could sneak into the kitchen, take care of his dishes, and grab a much needed cup of coffee.

"I'll send out a search party an' help ya find your balls." Imaginary Merle was completely disgusted. "Ain't' this your fuckin' house? You're not a man, you're a scared little girl! Hidin' out here an' waiting 'til the grownups leave the room afore you dare to go in. You're _pathetic_. What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Daryl bit his bottom lip. Imaginary Merle was right. He shot up out of the rocking chair, snapped up his bowl and spoon and marched purposefully to the kitchen door and yanked it open. He stomped loudly and defiantly into the kitchen, but there was no one there to witness his bold entrance. Daryl brewed himself a cup of coffee while he washed his bowl and spoon. He drank his coffee as he leaned against the kitchen counter then readjusted his crossbow before leaving the house again. He left the fenced in back yard and walked to the meadow where he had dug the large hole the day before. As he got closer to the boulder he slid his crossbow off his shoulder, raised and steadied it in front of him. Someone was behind the boulder near the hole. He figured that it was one of the group members, but one could never be too careful. He stalked silently the last ten feet to the rock and then climbed quietly upon it and brought up his bow.

Maggie looked up from where she was sitting against the rock. "What the hell is this?" she asked him as she motioned towards the hole.

Daryl lowered his bow and sat down on the rock above Maggie. "Looks like a hole ta me," he replied.

Maggie narrowed her eyes at him. "It looks like a grave to me. Is someone we know dying?"

Daryl started chewing on his thumbnail and thought for a second, then replied, "We're all dyin'. Been dyin' since the day we was born."

Maggie threw up her hands. "Oh, stop it with that philosophical crap! You know what I mean. You're not thinking of killing yourself are you?"

Daryl snorted, "Of course not."

Maggie searched his eyes, looking for any indication that he was lying. He didn't move his eyes from hers, didn't look away or down and she was convinced that he was telling the truth. "Come sit with me for a bit." she said as she reached up and offered him her hand. "Sit with me and talk a bit and then I'll help you load your truck."


	80. Chapter 80

Daryl ignored Maggie's outstretched hand and stepped off the boulder. There was a wheelbarrow parked next to the hole he'd dug and it was full of rocks of various sizes, all smooth and relatively rounded.

"What the hell are these?" Daryl asked Maggie as he motioned towards the wheelbarrow.

"Rocks." Maggie replied.

Daryl shot her a look of disgust. Just because he'd given her a smart-ass answer when she asked what the hole was it didn't mean that she should reciprocate.

"No shit. What are they for?" he asked.

Maggie patted the ground next to her. "Sit down, Tiger. Sit down and I'll tell you."

Daryl gently laid his crossbow on the ground and sat about a foot from Maggie with his back against the big white rock. He noticed she was wearing his hunting knife, what used to be his hunting knife, on her belt and he was pleased. "Okay," he said, "I'm sittin'. Tell me 'bout those rocks."

Maggie leaned forward and wrapped her arms around her knees. "Andrea told me that you'd dug this hole and she totally believed your bullshit story about hiding weapons in it, so good job on that."

"What? You think that's a bullshit story?" Daryl narrowed his eyes at her. "Are you questioning my honesty now, missy?"

Maggie could see the ghost of a smile on his face and she said, "No, I'm not questioning your honesty 'cause I know for a fact you weren't being honest. I know a big, fat lie when I hear one." She took her hands from around her knees and shifted so she was sitting cross-legged. "So tell me," she said, "what's the real deal with this grave. Oh, I mean 'hole'."

Daryl stretched his legs out and then folded and crossed them, too. He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow at her. "Tell me what the rocks 'er for first, then I'll tell you 'bout the hole."

Daryl had his eyes on the wheelbarrow and Maggie fixed her gaze on Daryl and didn't say anything. They were both silent for a moment and Daryl only noticed her staring at him when he took his eyes off the wheelbarrow to glance at her and ask what the holdup was with her answer. His words died on his tongue as they locked eyes. Maggie's eyes looked so sad, so confused, and Daryl had to look away. What the hell?

"Daryl?" she asked softly.

Daryl started to chew his thumbnail as he stared out at the forest. He felt all kinds of uncomfortable and he toyed with the idea of grabbing his crossbow and sprinting for the woods. "Yeah?" he replied quietly.

Maggie sighed. "Are we good?"

Daryl stopped biting at his thumb and his eyes met hers. "Yeah," he said, "'course we are.

Maggie's eyes continued to search his. "You mean that? You're not just saying it to get me off your case, are you?"

"No, I'm not. I really mean it." He sighed. "Can't believe I'm admittin' this to you, but it bothers me when you're pissed off at me."

A smile slowly spread across Maggie's face and she scooted over so she was right next to Daryl and wrapped her arms around him and gave him a squeeze.

He allowed it for about two seconds and then was pushing her away, "Dammit, girl, I ain't a hugger."

Maggie almost reminded him that he seemed pretty huggy when he was drunk and she was naked, but she knew that wouldn't be a good idea. "Things change," Maggie said. She seemed to be a lot happier now than she had been a few seconds earlier. "Now about those rocks. Daryl Dixon, you know damned well what they're for."

Daryl gave Maggie his best surprised look. "What? No. I don't have a clue."

Maggie slapped his leg playfully. "You liar. They're to put in the bottom of the hole for drainage. It leaves air pockets and spaces for water to flow through when it rains so whatever is in on top of the layers of rocks doesn't get all damp and moldy."

"Or as damp an' moldy as it would without 'em there." Daryl added.

Maggie nodded. "Okay," she said, "now that we've cleared up the rocks mystery, tell me about the hole. Why did you dig it and what is it for?"

Daryl looked at the hole and then returned his gaze to Maggie. He did that half-smirk/half-smile thing that Maggie thought was maddening and said, "I needed the exercise and it's for you to put your wheelbarrow of rocks in."

"Daryl Lee Dixon, you stop that right now!" Maggie giggled as she pushed Daryl's shoulder and he grinned as he chewed his thumb. She took a deep breath and they both got serious again. "Really, though, it looks like a grave. Is it a grave?"

Daryl chewed his thumb some more and stared at the hole then nodded. "Yeah."

Maggie had suspected as much, but to actually have confirmation from Daryl that the hole was indeed a grave was unsettling. "Why the_ hell _would you dig a_ grave_?" she hissed.

"Oh c'mon. Ya ain't that naïve." Daryl snorted.

"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not, but I want to hear your reason. I want you to tell me why you spent hours in the hot sun digging this grave." Maggie demanded.

"You can't leave things well enough alone, can you? 'S for me. 'S mine. Okay?"

Maggie narrowed her eyes and Daryl could tell she was angry. "I thought you said you weren't suicidal."

Daryl started chewing his thumb again. "I ain't. Not really."

Maggie motioned to the hole, "So what's _this_ all about then."

Daryl sighed. "Your Dad tol' me that I've got a subdural hemorrhage an' one a them can kill you like this." and he snapped his fingers. "I'm like a walkin' time bomb. Pressure keeps buildin' up an' one day things just pop. Kinda like blowin' too much air into a balloon 'til it pops, I guess."

Maggie's eyes grew wide and her mouth dropped open. "You've got a...a...subdural hemorrhage? And you didn't tell me? My Dad didn't tell me?" Tears started to run down her cheeks. "Why haven't you let us all know? Why didn't you tell me?"

"'Cause I don't want everyone lookin' at me the way you are now. Don't want anyone's fuckin' pity, 'specially not yours."

"Who knows besides my Dad?" she asked as she wiped her eyes.

"Rick knows an' that's it."

Maggie stared at the ground for a moment and then her eyes got wide again and she grabbed Daryl's upper arm. "Oh my God, you let Glenn hit you!? Another blow to the head could kill you and you let him hit you? I asked you just a couple of minutes ago if you were thinking of killing yourself and your exact words were 'of course not.' You were just bullshitting me, weren't you? You _are_ thinking of killing yourself." The tears came down faster now.

"I was still a bit drunk when ah told Glenn ta hit me. Thought it would solve everyone's problem. An' I ain't thinkin' a killin' myself. Not now, anyways." Shit. That was so not the right thing to say.

Maggie sobbed. "Not _now_? So you _were_ thinking of it!"

Daryl fidgeted uncomfortably. "C'mon, stop cryin'. Cut it out. I'd only do that if I ended up not bein' able to get aroun' an' do stuff on my own or if I got bit. You know, that sort a serious shit. I was more 'fraid of droppin' dead in the house an' then comin' back an' killin' someone. I ain't gonna let that happen."

"So what were you going to do? Come out here and sit in your hole and blow your head off?" Maggie wiped her eyes.

"No. Figure I'd have to make sure I died somewhere where I couldn't hurt nobody. "S why I had my room locked from the outside an' the inside. If I'm still here when it happens, me an' Andrea decided a good stab to the head or a big nail through the ears would work without makin' a person's head too much of a mess. That sort a shit is important to her, you know, since Amy. She don't wanna see my pretty face all messed up."

Tears continued to run down Maggie's face. "I can't believe we're discussing this." she said.

"You're the one brought it up." Daryl shot back. "an' I ain't gonna be usin' this here hole after all. I'm gonna be headed to Maine, remember?"

Maggie nodded. "Let me come with you."

Daryl snorted. "Andrea says she wants to come to. Sure, we'll just do our own version a "Three's Company" on the road. If I find Merle, maybe we can talk 'im into playin' Mr. Roper."

Maggie wiped her eyes. "You're such a nut. I knew Andrea would want to go with you. She really likes you a lot."

Daryl stood up, "Well she ain't comin' an' neither are you." he said gruffly as he reached down for his crossbow. "An' you need to fix things with China."

"There's nothing left to fix. We broke up." Maggie said. "As much as I hate to admit it, it really is for the best."

Daryl adjusted the crossbow's sling across his chest. "You an' China are like peas in a pod, how can breakin' up be for the best?"

"Because it isn't fair to be with someone when you're in love with someone else." Maggie said. She took a deep breath and said, "Glenn is a good friend, but you're my best friend, Daryl, and I love you. Glenn knew I loved you before I even realized it. He's going to be okay and we're both going to be happier just being friends. I'm in love with you, Daryl."

Daryl rolled his eyes and said, "That's all nice an' such, but you're still not comin' with me."

Maggie stood up and grabbed Daryl's arm before he could start to walk off. "No," she said. "I really, really love you. I want to be with you in every conceivable way. That's what I really wanted to talk to you about, I needed to tell you. I've been fighting my feelings for you for too long and I don't want to any more. I'm totally in love with you and I want to be with you, no matter what. Please. Please let me go with you."

Daryl turned to face her. He stepped in close to her and grasped her by her shoulders.

The intensity of his gaze made Maggie drop her eyes for a second before raising them to meet his again.

"Maggie, listen to me an' listen good." Daryl said and he gripped her shoulders tighter. "First of all, you just broke up with Glenn an' if I'm actin' all close to you, an' you're actin' all close to me, it'll make 'im feel like shit. Secondly, I like you, I like you a lot, but I can't love you. Not like you wanna be loved. Now Glenn, he can do it. He can be there for you an' take care of you an' love you like you deserve to be loved. I can't do right by you. Don'cha understand? I just don't have it in me to ever love anybody again."

Maggie reached up and wrapped her arms around Daryl's neck and pulled him down into a kiss. "Yes, you do," she whispered and she pushed her tongue into his mouth and then he was holding her tight and kissing her back, his tongue exploring her mouth with wild abandon. She pressed herself into him and stroked his back as they kissed.

Daryl ran his hands down Maggie's back and pulled her against himself tighter as his tongue wrestled with hers. She was soft and warm and she smelled like spring flowers and.. What the hell was he doing? He had wanted this, he wanted her, but it was wrong. It was just wrong. Daryl dropped his arms and pulled away from her. "I can't...we can't..."

"Yes, we can." Maggie whispered and she tried to pull him back against her.

Daryl stepped back away from her and ran his hand through his hair. He exhaled heavily and said, "This ain't right. I can't give you what you want, and if we keep on like this an' end up where I think this is headin', you're gonna feel like I used you when I leave."

Maggie furrowed her brow, "I won't feel like you used me. I want to be with you. I love you, Daryl."

Daryl glared at her. "But I don't love you. I don't know how to. Can't you get that through that beautiful, thick head a yours?"

"Daryl," Maggie said firmly, "You've told me more than once that you'd die for me. Of course, you were loaded both times, but you're sober now, so I need to know. Did you mean that?"

Daryl blushed and looked at the ground. "Course I meant it. Every word."

Maggie smiled. "That's good enough for me."

Daryl raised his eyes to meet hers. "It shouldn't be." he said and he turned on his heels and headed for the woods. He needed to get away from her and to let his body cool down. He half expected Maggie to yell or to follow him, but she did neither and he turned to see what she was up to right before he entered the woods. She was holding an arm full of stones and throwing them a few at a time into the hole he'd dug. He smirked and took his crossbow off his back. She had lost a bet with him and was supposed to skin any kills he brought back for a week. He would be gone the next day, but he wasn't going to let her get out of her obligation scott free.

* * *

Maggie was still tossing rocks into the hole when Daryl came out of the woods forty-five minutes later. She continued to work as he approached her and she didn't stop and look up at him until a string of five gutted squirrels and an opossum landed at her feet. She looked up and pushed the hair out of her face and smiled. "Damn. I was hoping you'd forget," she said.

Daryl smiled back at her. "You're damned lucky I couldn't find a skunk," he said.

Maggie walked over to where he stood and wrapped her arms around him, burying her head in his chest. "Will you come back if things don't go as you planned? Please?" she asked.

Daryl put one dirty hand on her shoulder and ran the other one through her hair, twisting it around his fingers and stroking the soft strands. He sighed and said, "Okay. But only if things don't go as planned. Don't be holdin' your breath or nothin'. I 'spect to be in Maine before snow flies."

Maggie nodded, her head still pressed against Daryl's chest as she listened to his heart beating.

He surprised both himself and Maggie when took her face between his squirrel-blood stained hands and pressed his lips to her forehead. "Now," he said with a smirk, "them squirrels and that 'possum ain't gonna skin themselves."

As she watched him swagger towards the house, Maggie started to sing to herself.

"Being a tiger means you laugh

Whenever lesser tigers have

To eat meat that's infected.

Knowing a tiger means you must

Accept his promise of mutual trust

And offer him your throat.

Loving a tiger means you take second place to the cake you bake

and with undying servile obedience...

remove daily the daubed bloody evidence of his dastardly misdeeds

from the otherwise immaculate elegance

of his pinstripe tiger coat.

Period."

* * *

Rick was looking for Daryl. He had promised him that he would help him load his truck and now he couldn't find the man anywhere. He had peeked into Daryl's room and noticed that the Blackhawks were on the dresser but the crossbow and the Bowie knife were gone. Rick assumed that Daryl must have gone out hunting and cursed the man under his breath. Daryl knew he wasn't in the best of health and he had told Hershel that he would stay near the house. Rick decided he would take a walk around outside and see if Daryl was anywhere to be seen.

Dale, Carol, Lori and Hershel were on the deck, drinking sweet tea and talking when Rick approached them. Dale invited Rick to sit down and join them. "I'd love to," he replied, wiping his brow, "but I'm trying to find Daryl. Have any of y'all seen him today?"

"I saw him this morning," Hershel volunteered. "I closed up his abdominal wound. He was actually feeling pretty good today, all things considered."

"He came into the kitchen late this morning," Carol added. "He had his crossbow and his big knife with him."

Dale nodded. "He grabbed a bowl of cereal and left. He wasn't in a very good mood, either."

"I'll say," Carl piped up. "I was going through the dining room and I heard him yelling at you guys. He sure sounded mad."

Carol and Dale exchanged what Rick thought were guilty looks. "Is there some problem between you and Daryl?" Rick asked them.

Carol's face reddened and she glanced over at Hershel.

Dale squirmed in his chair.

"Well?" Rick asked.

"No, not a problem, really." Carol said. "His behavior lately had just been...less than stellar and he walked into the kitchen while Dale and I were discussing him."

"I see," said Rick. "And what 'less than stellar' behavior had he been displaying?"

Carol swallowed and looked at Dale, hoping he'd back her up, but his attention seemed to be on something across the lake as he'd turned his head and now was squinting out over the water.

"He's just been...more hostile than usual and well, everyone heard Glenn yelling and banging on his door last night."

Rick had slept through it, but Lori had awakened him when she became concerned after the shouting had ended and she hadn't heard Glenn come back up the stairs. Rick had gotten up at her insistence and gone downstairs and that was when he found Glenn sitting on the couch in a daze.

Rick ran his hands through his hair. Why couldn't everyone just mind their own business? "What happened between Daryl and Glenn is between Daryl and Glenn and if they want to tell us about it, they will. Otherwise, it shouldn't be fodder for speculation."

Carol raised her eyebrows. "I think, as a group living in close quarters like we do, we all have a right to know what's going on when people in the group aren't getting along." she said.

Hershel sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I don't know if I agree with that," he said, "but I can tell you a bit about what's going on with Daryl. Daryl's head injuries are affecting him. If he's engaging in behavior that is unusual for him, or if he's exhibiting heightened emotions or a change in personality, it's more than likely due to head trauma. To be honest with you, with the injuries he's endured, I'm surprised he isn't sitting curled up in a corner, babbling and drooling all over himself."

Lori took a sip of her sweet tea and put her glass on the table. She turned to Carol and said, "I guess it probably shouldn't matter, what with Daryl leaving and all."

Rick mentally face-palmed himself. He had told Lori that Daryl was going to be leaving as they had laid in bed talking early that morning, but he had forgotten to tell her that that information was not for everyone to know.

"Daryl's leaving?" Carl, Dale and Carol asked.

"When and why would he do that?" Carol asked.

"'Soon and 'cause he's better off on his own." Daryl's voice answered.

Everyone turned to look at the hunter who stood on the deck just outside the door.

Daryl glared at Rick and Rick looked at the floor. So much for keeping things quiet about Daryl's departure.

Carol tore her eyes from Daryl and looked at Rick. "You're not going to let him go, are you? How can you just let him leave?"

This infuriated Daryl. "It ain't Rick's decision! I need to see if I can find my brother an' then I'm headed north. Y'all got food an' water ta last you a long time! You don't need me anymore." Daryl turned his attention to Rick. "So," he said, "you gonna help me to load the truck or what?"

"I was just looking for you to see if you were ready to get started." Rick answered.

Daryl nodded and went back inside the house.

Carol grabbed Rick's arm as he started towards the door. "Surely you're not serious. He can't leave, not when he's still hurt!"

Rick slid his arm out of Carol's grasp and put his hand on her shoulder. "It isn't up to us, Carol. I'll let Daryl know that he always has a place here and if he wants to come back at any time, we'd welcome him. That's all I can do though. I can't make him stay."

Carol looked at the floor and nodded. "I guess you're right." she said sadly. She turned to Hershel then, "Is he okay to be traveling by himself."

"Like Rick said, it isn't my decision. I do have to say this again, though; Daryl has been injured more here by the members of this group than by any outside forces. I understand that his injuries were accidental, but nonetheless this place hasn't been very good for his health and I can't really blame him for wanting to get away from here."

Rick hid a small smile as he turned and walked toward the door. Hershel had diplomatically said "this place" and "here" instead of "all of you". By rights he should have said "_All of you_ haven't been very good for Daryl's health and I can't really blame him for wanting to get away from _all of you_."

* * *

Rick met Daryl in Daryl's bedroom. Daryl was pulling a guitar case out of the closet and when he looked up at Rick, Rick thought the man looked worried.

"Where is Andrea at?" Daryl asked. "I don't need her pullin' everything back outta my truck an puttin' it back in my room again." His room. Very soon it wouldn't be his room anymore.

"She and Glenn took a ride out to the farm to see if there were still a lot of walkers around. They're not going to get too close if there are. If the place is clear, they're going to see about bringing back any chickens that might be left and they're going to grab the milk and eggs from the kitchen." Rick explained.

"You think that was a good idea?" Daryl asked as he gathered up a pile of towels and wash cloths and tossed them into a contractor bag with his clothes.

"They gave me their word that they'd turn right around if there were more than just a few walkers around, so, yes, I think it was."

"Well, you're the boss." Daryl replied.

Rick helped Daryl to load up his truck. He secured five full five gallon gas containers in the truck bed and made sure Daryl's Harley was secure and then started making trips to and from the war room. It only took a little over an hour to load and secure everything. Rick loaded the cab of the truck behind the seats with several automatic rifles, a few pistols and boxes of ammunition. Daryl stopped him when he came out with a third box of grenades.

"I'm sure two will be plenty," he told Rick.

Carol and Dale sat on the back porch and watched the two men load the truck. They'd whisper among themselves occasionally as they observed the men work.

* * *

Lori came out of the house onto the porch with a pitcher of cold lemonade. She poured two tall glasses of it and walked to the driveway to where her husband and Daryl were arranging things so they could load more into the truck bed. "I brought you fellas some lemonade," she said brightly. Rick took a glass from her and thanked her, then kissed her on the cheek.

Daryl climbed down from the truck bed and looked suspiciously at the glass Lori held out to him.

"Daryl," Lori said quietly. "I'm sorry for everything bad I've ever done to you or said about you. I'm very sorry about what I did... I was being stupid and selfish and I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?"

Daryl looked at her through narrowed eyes and Lori felt like she was being eviscerated by those intense, sky blue eyes.

She dropped her eyes and then felt Daryl's hand on hers as he took the glass from her hand. "People make mistakes." he said quietly. "You got a good husband an' he'll take good care a you. You just' be sure to take good care a him, too."

Lori nodded and a tear ran down her cheek. "I will, I certainly will." she said and she turned and walked back towards the house.

Daryl watched her go. Maybe they'd make it; Lori and Rick. Maybe they'd be okay despite the mess Lori and Shane had made of things.

* * *

Daryl decided that he would only bring the six string guitar with him and he had a hard time justifying bringing something that useless with him at all. He also decided to cram all the down pillows into the cab, telling himself that they were warm and would be helpful in keeping the cold at bay in Maine. He grinned when Rick came out the back door, staggering under the weight of a huge box full of canned Chef Boyardee pasta.

"You seem to be the only one here that likes this stuff." he told Daryl as he heaved it up onto the truck's tailgate with a grunt.

A case of Pop Tarts was among the essential food items that were packed into the truck as well. Rick brought out a case of toilet paper and Daryl made sure they found room for it. He didn't mind doing his business in the woods, but toilet paper was a helluva lot easier on the backside than leaves were.

They were just starting to cover the back of the truck with waterproof tarps when they heard a scream come from the meadow.

Daryl grabbed his Rugers and ran for the gate with Rick right behind him. Maggie was in trouble.


	81. Chapter 81

Daryl rounded the line of trees and ran into the meadow with Rick trailing behind him. He didn't think he'd ever run so fast in his life. His heart was pounding in his throat and when he saw the group of ten walkers bending and snarling over something that was blocked from view by the white quartz boulder he shouted, "_No, no no_!" at the top of his lungs. More walkers were staggering out of the woods, dozens of them, making their way towards their fellow monstrosities gathered behind the large rock.

Maggie had stopped screaming and Daryl panicked as he barreled towards where he'd last seen her. "_Maggie_!" he roared, as he raised his guns. Two of the walkers poked their heads up and Daryl fired both Blackhawks simultaneously, effectively removing the majority of both their heads. "_Maggie! Maggie_!" he yelled her name over and over. A red hot fury enveloped him and he leaped up onto the boulder and blasted the walkers below him as he continued to scream Maggie's name.

* * *

"_Daryl_!" Maggie's voice shrieked, and Daryl realized she was in the damned hole. Two walkers toppled down into it while reaching for her and Daryl dropped a Blackhawk on the ground and yanked his Bowie knife from its sheath as he dove for the hole. He heard Rick's Python roar behind him as he landed on a walker and he drove his knife into its skull. Bony fingers clawed at him and he kicked out at the second walker that was trying to grab him as his eyes shot to where Maggie was huddled against the dirt wall at the head of the now not so empty grave. Her eyes were wide and she clutched her hunting knife tightly in her right hand as she sobbed. She was covered with blood and gore and dirt and there were three motionless walkers in front of her in a sloppy pile. Daryl felt a rush of relief wash over him and he brought up his knife and drove it through the eye of the walker reaching for him. At least she was alive.

Rick was standing on the boulder and he stopped firing for a second to reload and then continued blasting walkers with his Python.

Daryl jumped over the walkers he'd dispatched and grabbed Maggie's arm. "Are ya bit?" he asked, breathlessly.

Maggie shook her head. "No...I..."

Daryl pulled her over the walker pile in front of her. "There's a shitload of the fuckers comin' outta the woods, we gotta go, sweetheart, and we gotta go _now_." he told her as he poked his head up to see if the way was clear. A shot rang out and there was a small explosion in the dirt about five inches from his head. Daryl yelped and jumped back.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Rick shouted as Daryl shot him a dirty look.

The walkers that had congregated around the hole had been destroyed, but the walkers that had come out of the woods were now bearing down on them. Daryl practically threw Maggie out of the hole and hoisted himself out of it just as the first wave of walkers reached them. He scooped up the Ruger he'd dropped and pressed it into Maggie's right hand as he grabbed her left wrist. "_Go_!" he yelled.

"_Let's move_!" Rick shouted as he leaped off the rock and started running for the house. Daryl let go of Maggie's wrist and yelled, "_Run_!" as he turned to shoot the walker that had grabbed the back of his shirt and almost pulled him down. It grabbed his arm holding the Ruger and he instinctively brought up his other arm to shove the walker off of him. It snapped at his hand with its yellow teeth and Daryl felt a burning sensation in his smallest finger as he yanked his hand back and shot the walker. He leaped backward and glanced down at his hand. The smallest finger on his right hand had been bitten off at the knuckle.

"Fuck!" he growled. He couldn't use his Bowie knife to do what he had to do, it was dripping with walker blood and guts. He turned and ran after Maggie and Rick as he fumbled in his right front pocket with his injured hand and shit if that didn't hurt like hell. Pain be damned, time was of the essence and he had to hurry. He found what he was looking for and pulled out his jackknife, tossing it into his left hand and flipping it open as he ran. He had to stop to do this. He looked behind him. He realized then that this was no small group of walkers, it was a damned herd and they were still pouring out of the woods. He wondered if the fence would hold up against so many of them if they all were leaning on it, trying to get through.

Daryl gripped the Ruger tightly in his right hand. Blood was pouring out of his partially severed finger. That was probably a good thing, hopefully it would slow the virus as it started to spread. He was bound and determined to stop that from happening. He held the largest blade of the jackknife against the base of his pinkie finger that was pressed against the Ruger's grip and pushed down on it with all his strength. He felt the sharp blade glide through his flesh and he grit his teeth against the pain. The knife snagged and stopped as it hit bone and then there was a snap and Daryl gasped as the blade made its way through and hit the wooden grip. He held up his hand as blood ran over it and down his wrist. The half of his little finger that he'd cut through twirled as it dangled from his hand by a strip of tough skin. He took a second to saw through the skin strip with the jackknife and then discarded his severed pinkie and started running for the house again. He yanked a faded red rag from his rear pocket as he ran and wrapped it around his hand.

* * *

Maggie and Rick were waiting for him right inside the gate and Maggie slammed and locked the gate once Daryl was inside. Lori was hugging Rick and Hershel was crossing the lawn as fast as his legs could carry him. When he reached his daughter, he grabbed her and hugged her tightly and she cried into his shoulder.

"Are you hurt?" Hershel asked her and he held her out at arm's length so he could get a good look at her.

"No Daddy, I'm okay. I thought I was going to die, but I'm okay."

"You didn't get bitten did you?" Rick asked as Dale, Carl and Carol arrived to see what had happened.

Hershel shot Rick an icy glare and Rick looked at his feet. "Sorry," he mumbled, and then he looked up and met Hershel's eyes with his, "but you know I have to ask."

"No, I didn't get bit." Maggie answered.

"We gotta get inside," Daryl said as he watched the walkers coming around the tree line as they headed toward the house. "And maybe these fuckers'll move on."

Carol noticed the bloody rag wrapped around Daryl's hand. "You're bleeding." she said as she pointed to it. "What happened?"

Daryl slid by her and started walking towards the porch. "Got a boo boo." he said over his shoulder.

* * *

The group all moved into the house and the walkers arrived at the fence. They moaned and snarled and groaned and growled and pushed against the metal barrier.

"What if they get through?" Carl asked his father as he watched out the kitchen window as the undead horde rattled the metal fence.

Rick was drinking a cup of coffee as he leaned on the kitchen island, his eyes on the walkie talkie lying next to his cup. "They won't." he said confidently.

Carl looked over at this father and then looked out the window again at the walkers. "How do you know?" he asked.

Rick looked over at where his son stared out the window. "Because each of the fence posts is made of reinforced steel and sunk into four feet of concrete. The fencing itself is much stronger than your standard chain link fencing, too."

"Good," Carl said. He turned to his father again and made a face. "They really smell pretty bad," he noted. "I wish they'd just go away."

Rick took another sip of his coffee. "I just hope that Andrea and Glenn radio in before they get here. I'd like to be able to let them know what they're coming home to."

"They will." Carl said, "I heard Glenn promise Carol he would." Carl smiled. "I hope they found some chickens. I really liked collecting the eggs back at the farm. Plus they taste really good."

Rick smiled at his son. "They sure do." He suddenly had a craving for eggs and bacon. Maybe he could ask Carol or Beth to cook some up for supper. He had always enjoyed a 'breakfast for supper' night once in a while back when things had been normal. It was always a treat to drive into the driveway after a hard day at work and to be met with the aroma of cooking bacon and sausage upon entering the house. Lori would usually make home-fries on these nights as well. He scratched his head. Weren't there some bags of potatoes in the garage?

"You know what would be really good?" Carl asked his father as he moved away from the window.

"No, what would be really good?" Rick asked.

"Breakfast for supper. Eggs, bacon, sausage and Mom's home-fries. That's what would be really good."

Rick smiled and said, "You read my mind."

"Really? If I ask Mom and Beth, do you think we could have that for supper?"

"If the ladies who are doing the cooking don't mind, it's a-okay with me." Rick replied.

Carl smiled. "Alriiiight!" he exclaimed and headed for the dining room.

* * *

Carl bumped into Carol in the dining room. She was on her way to the kitchen and Carl shyly asked her if she and the other ladies wouldn't mind fixing bacon, eggs, and home-fries for supper.

Carol smiled. "That sounds like an excellent idea." she said.

Carl was overjoyed.

* * *

Hershel was sitting on a couch in the great room. He had just set up the chess board and was going to teach Carol how to play. She had gone into the kitchen to get some tea and cookies for them when Daryl peeked around the corner from the hall into the great room. His hair was disheveled and damp and Hershel guessed he had just gotten out of the shower. He smiled warmly at the man who had saved his daughter a little more than a half hour before.

Daryl stepped out into the great room and cleared his throat. "Um...Hershel? Could I bother you for a moment?"

Hershel patted the couch cushion next to him and said, "Son, you're not bothering me at all. Come over here and tell me what I can do for you."

Daryl shifted his weight from his left leg to his right and looked at the floor. "Could you come inta my room for just a couple a minutes?"

Hershel nodded and got to his feet. Daryl disappeared around the corner just as Carol entered the great room with a tray of cookies, two tea cups and a pot of tea.

"I'll just be a minute, dear." Hershel said to Carol and he reached over and snagged two cookies off the tray as he walked by her.

Carol smiled and raised her eyebrows as she set the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch and then sat and poured herself a cup of hot tea.

Daryl held the door open for Hershel and then closed it behind him.

Hershel sank into the chair by the closet as Daryl sat on the end of the bed and Hershel offered him one of the cookies. Daryl thanked him and they both bit into them. "So" Hershel said when he'd finished his cookie. "What seems to be the problem?"

Daryl looked at Hershel and then looked at his feet and asked, "First of all, how's Maggie? She gonna be okay?"

"She's fine. Just shook up is all. She explained what had happened and that you saved her life. I was going to thank you for that but you disappeared before I could."

Daryl nodded. "Took a shower an' had somethin' ta tend to." He unwrapped his right hand and held it out for Hershel to see. "You wanted to know that the problem was. This. This is the problem." he said quietly.

Hershel looked at the bloody hand and his eyes grew wide when he saw the blood was coming from the base of where Daryl's smallest finger used to be. He stood up and reached out his hand. "Let me see." he said in his soothing veterinarian's voice. He gently took Daryl's hand in his and examined the wound, taking the white washcloth Daryl offered him with his left hand and sliding it under Daryl's damaged hand. "You were bitten." Hershel said.

Daryl nodded. "Took the top half a my little finger off. I cut the rest off. Thought it would stop me from gettin' infected. Think I got it in time?"

Hershel furrowed his brows as he brought his eyes closer Daryl's hand. The cut was smooth except for the ragged skin at the back and the knife the man used must have been quite sharp.

"I had it off less than a minute after it happened. Used my jackknife cause my big knife was covered with walker blood." Daryl explained. "Whataya think? M' I gonna be okay?"

Hershel was impressed. The man had cut off his own finger and he'd done it quickly and made sure to use a relatively clean blade in the process. "I honestly don't know. You used a clean knife and the time between the bite and the amputation was minimal." Hershel dabbed the bleeding wound with the towel and Daryl hissed.

"I'm sorry," Hershel said. He stared at the hunter's hand. "I know you showered, but your hand, how soon after you got in here did you clean the wound?" he asked.

"The second I got in here. Used soap an' dipped it in bleach, then rubbin' alcohol an' sprayed it down with Lysol. Did it again when I got outta the shower. Figured that should kill anythin' got in it. It's been bleedin' since I cut the finger off. Ain't bleedin' heavy er nothin'. Figured lettin' it bleed'll help to keep stuff out, too."

Hershel looked up from the wound and his eyes met Daryl's. The hunter seemed calm and in control but his eyes betrayed the fact that he was terrified. "Bleach? Alcohol? _Lysol_? Son, that had to hurt like hell!"

Daryl nodded. "It did. Hurt more than cuttin' the damned finger off, but's worth it if it keeps me from dyin'."

Hershel nodded. "I can't argue with that logic." he said. He looked back down at Daryl's hand. "I need to close this wound."

"I can do it." Daryl offered.

"And just how do you plan on doing that?" Hershel asked, truly interested to see what Daryl had in mind.

"Cauterizin' it. There's a flat iron in the closet. Was here when I moved in. Figured I could use that."

Hershel grimaced. "Why don't you let me do it? That way..."

"No," Daryl said. "I'll do it. I'm 'fraid if I holler you'll pull it away too soon. I'm okay with it." He leaned closer to Hershel and stared intently at the man. "What I need to know is what do we do? Do we tell everyone I'm bit? "

Hershel thought for a moment and then shook his head. "No. Not yet, anyway. If you start exhibiting signs of infection we should probably..."

"If I'm' infected I'll take care of it." Daryl said firmly. "I'll get in my truck an' be as far from here as ah can before I put an end to things."

"And what if the sickness comes on suddenly and you don't have time to do that?" Hershel asked.

"Then tell Andrea." Daryl replied, "She'll know what to do. We sorta discussed it once. I'll be locked in here."

Hershel sighed. "I swear, son, you have an invisible target sign on you. I'll be in every hour to check your temperature. A fever is the first thing that would indicate you're infected. If you start getting hot, you let me know immediately." he patted Daryl on the knee. "Are you sure you want to handle the cauterization yourself?"

Daryl smirked. "Wouldn't have it any other way."

* * *

Hershel returned to the great room and apologized to Carol for having to leave like he did. He didn't tell her that he had been with Daryl and when she asked him if he felt better now he smiled as he realized her implication. She thought he'd been in the bathroom the whole time he was gone.

* * *

Daryl pulled the flat iron off the closet shelf and pulled an unfinished bolt he'd started to carve out of his quiver. He entered the bathroom and plugged in the iron and put the bolt next to the sink. This was really going to suck. He found an ace bandage in the cupboard and wrapped the other fingers of his hand together with it. Daryl then covered them with a small towel, making sure to wrap it so it covered the base of his ring finger next to where he'd be using the iron. The last thing he wanted to do was accidentally burn one of his other fingers during the cauterization process.

"Ya think this is gonna work, little brother?" Imaginary Merle asked. "Won't hurt like it did when I had to cauterize my stump. Now that fuckin' hurt. You shoulda cut off your hand, then we'd be like bookends; a matchin' pair."

"Merle," Daryl said under his breath, "there's where you're the stronger one an' I admit I'm the pussy. If I had ta lose a hand, I'd jes' as soon die. Can't shoot a crossbow with one hand, can't ride a motorcycle, even if you think you could, I couldn't. When it comes to livin' with one hand, you're the braver an' the stronger one, Merle, I'll give you that."

"Shit son, I'm the braver an' stronger one in everythin'." Imaginary Merle gloated. "Now let's see ya show some balls an' burn that flesh a yours."

Daryl filled the sink with cold water, picked up the unfinished bolt, put it between his teeth and bit down on it. He took a deep breath and lifted the hot iron with his left hand and after spreading his nonexistent pinky so its base was angled slightly away from his hand, he placed the hot iron against the bleeding wound.

The pain shot through him like lightening and he threw his head back and bit down hard on the bolt as he stifled a scream. The blood in the wound sizzled and dried on the iron and Daryl stamped his foot as he continued to hold the iron in place. The pain tore through his body like electricity and the smell, God, the smell of burning flesh reaching through the pain to demand attention was nauseating. His heart was racing now and his breaths were coming in short bursts as he held back the cries of pain that threatened to erupt from him. Tears sprang into the corners of his eyes and one ran down his face as he counted. Thirty seconds that seemed like forever later, he pulled the iron away from his hand and put it down.

Daryl heard a sizzling noise and saw a puff of steam as he plunged his hand into the cold water in the sink. The shock of the burning flesh hitting the cold water caused a spasm to rocket through him and he yanked his hand out of the water as his whole body stiffened. He took some deep breaths and crinkled his nose at the smell of burnt flesh that still hung in the air. Damn, he thought, why is it that animal flesh cooking smelled so good and that his own flesh cooking smelled so awful? Of course. He was _burning_ his hand. Burning flesh stunk, be it animal or human. Maybe those man eating tribes in the Amazon had special recipes for cooking up humans so that they smelled mouthwatering tasty as they rotated on spits over the tribe's fires. "Today on Cooking with Zubu we'll learn how to baste your human while roasting it for optimum flavor." Yeah, he thought, he had been due for a good brain fart.

Daryl removed the ace bandage and carefully bandaged his hand with a roll of gauze. His hand was throbbing and his wound felt like it was on fire, but dammit, _if_ it healed and _if_ he hadn't been infected, the pain would be more than worth it. He was more than willing to trade a pinky finger for his life.

* * *

Maggie sat in the bathtub and ran more hot water into the tub. She pressed the button on the tub's ledge and the jets in the tub came to life, causing the water's surface to boil and bubble. Maggie leaned back and let the churning water massage her back and her legs. She sighed and closed her eyes. This seemed so unreal. She had almost died today and now here she was, sitting in this huge tub and having her body massaged by jets of warm water.

She had been a bit upset with Daryl when he had walked off into the woods and left her standing next to that damned grave he'd dug after he'd kissed her like he had. She had felt him grow hard as their bodies had been pressed together and then he had pulled away from her and pranced off into the woods with his crossbow like nothing had happened, leaving her hot and bothered. She had decided not to run after him, she did, after all, have a little bit of dignity left, so she'd busied herself with tossing rocks into the bottom of the hole.

Daryl had come back and had tossed his kills at her feet for her to skin. She was pleased that he'd at least field dressed the little beasts so all she'd need to do was skin them and remove their heads, feet and tails. Daryl had left to go to the house and Maggie had noticed that it appeared that there were more rocks at one end of the grave than the other. She had dumped the rest of the wheelbarrow of rocks into the hole and then jumped down inside of it to move them around so that the depth of stones would be more or less level.

Maggie had been working for a little while when she thought she heard someone approaching. "So, you're back. Do you want to pick up where we left off or do you want to help me with these rocks." she'd said loudly. She hadn't gotten a response and after a moment she stood to address Daryl. A trio of walkers was standing nearby and when they saw her, they snarled and groaned and headed towards her. She unsheathed Daryl's knife (he had given it to her, but to Maggie it would always be Daryl's knife) and that was when the walker behind her, the one she hadn't seen, fell into the hole on top of her. She had screamed bloody murder as she twisted and stabbed the knife through the rotting female walker's forehead before it had a chance to try to bite her. Another walker fell into the grave and Maggie backed herself up so she was against the dirt wall at the head of the grave. As the walker tried to scramble to its feet, she darted forward and drove the knife through the top of its skull. A third walker fell into the hole and Maggie could hear Daryl's voice shouting her name over and over. She reached to stab the walker and it grabbed her arm and she cried out. It pulled its head with its snapping teeth towards her and she tried to pull away. She heard Daryl's Blackhawks roar and he was yelling for her again. She kicked out at the walker that was trying to eat her and it snapped at her she shoved it away, its yellow green teeth barely missing her hand. "Daryl!" she yelled. The walker lunged for her again and she drove the knife through its ear and it fell on top of the other two walkers she'd immobilized. She burst into tears and suddenly Daryl was tumbling into the hole on top of two walkers that had just fallen into it in an attempt to get at Maggie.

She smiled as she ran a soapy sponge over her arm. Daryl had come swooping in like Superman and saved her. She reached back and itched the scab on her old knife wound. It was strange to think that the knife she'd used to kill walkers with today was the same one that had left her with this itchy scab that would eventually become a permanent scar.

Maggie finished up her bath and stepped out of the tub. She was feeling so much better and she was so happy to be safe and alive. She frowned when she thought of Glenn and Andrea out at the farm. She hoped that they hadn't run into any trouble and that they would be wise enough to use the walkie talkie to contact the house before they headed down Forest Lake Road. She could hear the fence outside rattling from time to time and she knew that there were a lot of walkers out along the fence.

Maggie dried off and slid into her bathrobe. She slid her feet into her bunny slippers and headed toward the room she had shared with Glenn. Her clothes were still in there and he figured it would be okay for her to get dressed in there as he wasn't around.

She wondered for a moment if she'd made the right decision in telling Daryl how she felt about him before deciding that she'd done the right thing. He had made it more than clear that he didn't feel the same way about her as she did about him, but she had sort of expected that might be the case. He had wanted her, though, and he'd surprised her when he had expressed concern for Glenn's feelings. It made her love him even more. Glenn was the one that broke things off with her and she had been a mess when he'd done it, but now she was glad that he had. Maggie had been torn between her love for Glenn and Daryl and Glenn had stepped up and made her decision for her. Glenn could truthfully say that he had ended the relationship with Maggie and she would agree. Hopefully, this would squelch any rumors that might be spread about Daryl breaking them up or that Maggie had dumped Glenn for Daryl.

Maggie decided that everything was going to be okay. She had told Daryl that she loved him and she had no regrets. He would probably be leaving in a day or two and he had made it clear that she would not be welcome to go with him, and she would have to deal with that. He would leave knowing she loved him and that would have to suffice. After all, she told herself, a tiger is a solitary, wild beast and he won't allow himself to belong to anyone.

Maggie smiled a small, sad smile as she got dressed.


	82. Chapter 82

**A few of you lovely reviewers (and I mean that, you guys are awesome!) have asked me why I hate Daryl so much. I don't hate Daryl! I love him! In my defense, I'll say that I'm just an evil, sadistic, rotten stinker! **

Carol and Hershel were on their third game of chess and Hershel was impressed with how quickly Carol had caught on and how she was already developing quite the ability to strategize.

"I never thought I'd like this game," Carol said with a smile as she plucked the bishop she'd just captured from Hershel from off the board, "but it's fun. You really have to think ahead."

Hershel took a sip of tea from the delicate bone china tea cup then said, "I'm glad you're enjoying the game and that you wanted to learn how to play. I don't think I can remember the last time I felt relaxed enough to sit down and play a game of chess."

Carol sipped at her tea and watched as Hershel moved his knight into position to try to take her rook. "I feel so sophisticated," she laughed, "sitting here, drinking tea from fancy cups and playing chess."

Hershel smiled and glanced at his watch. "I'll be right back," he said as he stood up.

"I'll go get some more tea and cookies," Carol said and she started to arrange the teapot and the empty cookie plate on the tray.

* * *

Hershel rapped on Daryl's door. It had been an hour since he'd been examined Daryl's injured hand and he was anxious to see the results of the cauterization the man had performed.

"That you, Hershel?" Daryl's voice said through the door.

"Yes," Hershel answered, "it is."

"C'mon in."

Hershel walked into the room and closed the door behind him. The room smelled of Lysol and rubbing alcohol with an underlying odor of burnt flesh and Hershel winced. "You might want to open a window," he suggested.

Daryl was sitting on his bed unwrapping his hand and answered without looking up, "I did, but there's still a bunch a geeks out by the fence an' they smell worse. The smell a Lysol and my burnt hand is the lesser a two evils."

Hershel smiled at that and Daryl finished unwrapping his hand and held it out for Hershel to see. Hershel sat on the bed next to Daryl and gently grasped Daryl's wrist and held his hand up so he could see it better. The open wound was now seared shut and the scab was thick and black. Hershel examined the back of Daryl's hand and all his other fingers and then brought his eyes up and met Daryl's. Hershel saw hope and expectation in those blue eyes and it pleased him. The fear he'd seen in them earlier had been unsettling.

"Well?" Daryl asked. "You gonna tell me what you think or am I spose'd to guess?"

Hershel sighed. The man was still a smart-ass. "I think you did a commendable job, it looks very good." Hershel brought his hand up to place it on Daryl's forehead and Daryl instinctively jumped back as though Hershel was going to strike him. "I just want to feel your forehead, see if you're warm." Hershel said gently.

"Sorry 'bout that," Daryl mumbled. "I got this thing where..."

"I understand," Hershel said quietly, "you don't need to explain," and he moved his hand towards Daryl's head again and placed his cool palm against Daryl's forehead. He smiled and pulled it away. "No sign of a fever, but I want you to start taking amoxicillin again. There is a chance of infection where you severed your finger and I'd hate to mistake a fever due to that for a fever that the virus would cause. Do you have any amoxicillin left? Because there's plenty of it in the med room."

Daryl nodded. "I still got some."

"Good," Hershel said. "I want you to take two of them right now and then one every six hours. I'll be reminding you when it's time to take the next one."

Daryl fidgeted. Hershel knew he wasn't good at keeping pill schedules, but dammit, this time he'd make damned sure he took them when he was supposed to.

"Any headaches? Vision problems? One sided weakness?" Hershel asked as he pulled out his penlight.

"Not that damned thing again," Daryl complained as Hershel flicked the light on. "An' no. No headache and I can see fine an' my left side is now feelin' jes' as strong as my right." He scowled as the little penlight shone into his right eye and then moved to his left. "I think you jes' like usin' that damned light 'cause you know I hate it." he grumbled.

Hershel grinned. "You caught me." he said and Daryl's eyes got big.

"What the...?"

"I'm just kidding." Hershel laughed. "I can tell a lot by the dilation and constriction of your pupils, plus I can see the blood vessels and fluid inside your eye and that can tell me a lot about your health as well."

Daryl sighed. "I know one thing, I'm damned lucky that we met up with you. I'd be long gone without your medical knowledge an' abilities."

"And I'd be long gone without your skills as well," Hershel said, remembering the feeling of being trapped in Dale's RV as walkers tried to get inside. "Now I want you to take the Tylenol with codeine for pain, and don't be brave, you're going to need it. You should take two now and no drinking. I mean it. Besides the potential for a not so good reaction with codeine, alcohol can lower your resistance to bacterial and viral infections and you certainly don't want that."

"Got it," Daryl said, "no booze."

"Drink a lot of water though, you need to stay hydrated, especially when you're on antibiotics, and it will help to flush out the toxins in your system. Finally, I want you to get some rest. You're still dealing with a head injury and you need to let your hand start to heal. If you're feeling too jumpy or fidgety I can give you something for that."

Daryl started chewing on his left thumb, "Nah, I'm exhausted. Gonna grab somethin' to eat an' then take a nap." he said.

Hershel stood up and patted Daryl on the shoulder and said, "That sounds like a great idea."

Daryl watched the older man as he left the room and then started to re-wrap his hand.

* * *

Andrea sighed as she turned onto the highway from Fairburn Road. She glanced over at Glenn who had a huge grin on his face and she rolled her eyes. There was a wooden crate in the hatch area with five squawking hens in it and a goat lay on a blanket in the back seat, bleating loudly every few minutes as it voiced its dislike of riding in cars. It had taken almost two hours to catch the five hens and there were still several others wandering around back at the farm. Glenn wanted to stay longer and try to catch more of them but Andrea had had enough chicken wrangling for one day.

Glenn was holding a baby goat in his lap, rubbing it behind the ears with one hand while it sucked on the thumb of his other hand. He told Andrea he thought it was the cutest thing ever.

"If it shits in the car, you can clean it up. We'll see how cute you think it is when that happens." she snapped.

"Aww.." Glenn said to the baby goat, "you're not gonna poop in the car are you? Of course not. She's a good girl, isn't she? Yes, she is. Pretty little fuzzy wuzzy baby," he cooed as he cuddled the little creature.

Andrea had to smile. She had no idea that Glenn was such an animal lover.

The baby goat rubbed her head against Glenn's chest and he laughed and talked more foolishness to her.

Glenn seemed to be in a good mood, unlike he'd been on their trip to the farm, so Andrea threw caution to the wind and asked point blank, "So, did you and Maggie get things sorted out?"

The smile immediately left Glenn's face. Did he want to talk about this with Andrea? Well, why not? It would be nice to vent to someone and she appeared to be concerned which Glenn appreciated. She also wouldn't go spreading gossip like other members of the group were inclined to do. "We broke up." he said as he stroked the baby goat. "I told her to move out of my room. She should be doing that today."

Andrea raised her eyebrows. "Wow, I'm sorry to hear that. I thought you guys were all crazy mad in love."

Glenn sighed. "So did I."

"So what happened? Or would you rather not talk about it?" Andrea asked, truly intrigued but trying to be sensitive to Glenn's possible need for privacy.

"I'll tell you if you really want to know. I think it might help if I could talk to someone about it. Maybe you can tell me if I was being too hasty." Glenn said as he looked over at Andrea.

Andrea smiled as she watched the road. "I'm all ears," she said. "and a shoulder to cry on should you want to use it."

Glenn cleared his throat. "Thanks. Where to begin, where to begin...okay...Carol came to me last evening and told me that she suspected that Maggie and Daryl were fooling around."

Andrea bit her bottom lip and raised her eyebrows.

"She told me she had evidence of it and I thought she was full of crap. Maggie had already gone to bed and I actually woke her up to confront her and she said she wasn't fooling around with Daryl, but get this, she'd gotten _naked_ in front of him!"

"_What_?" Andrea exclaimed, "Are you _serious_?"

"Yes! Apparently, Daryl had been 'uncomfortable' around her because of the whole incident where she washed him up after Shane kicked the hell out of him and their friendship was suffering, so Maggie thought it was a, quote, good idea, unquote, to even things up and to let him see her naked. I asked her how she'd feel if I hung out with you without any clothes on and she said it would depend on why and that if I'd seen you naked and it made you uncomfortable to be around me, she would totally be okay with me being naked in front of you."

Andrea blushed.

"I was starting to think that it wasn't so bad, but then I asked if Daryl had touched her, and what Carol had found indicated he more than likely had done more than that, and Maggie didn't deny it."

"Wow," Andrea was starting to get a little angry. Daryl and Maggie? Maggie had been encouraging her to pursue Daryl! Why would she do that if she wanted Daryl for herself?

Glenn started to pet the goat more aggressively as he spoke. "I was furious so I told her we were through and that she had to move out of my room. Then I went to Daryl's room to confront him. I was all pumped up and mad when he opened the door, I just jumped at him, swinging my fists."

"No way! You went after Daryl? Weren't you afraid that he'd kick your ass?"

"I was so damned mad that I didn't care. He looked like hell, you know, his face is all banged up and he's lost so much weight. He looked exhausted." Glenn exhaled loudly. "He'd been drinking, too."

Andrea was driving slowly through the first cleared roadblock along their route and a small smile played about her lips. "Yeah, we'd been drinking together. He was totally shit-faced by the time we were finished," she told Glenn. "We'd started to get...physical and then he threw up a wall and we crashed. He told me I'd regret it the next day if I slept with him, that he wasn't good enough for me. Maybe that was just a crock of bullshit if he's been sleeping with Maggie. She probably wore him all out."

Glenn bit his lip, he was starting to get mad all over again.

"I'm sorry," Andrea said quickly, "I didn't mean to imply..."

"No, no, what you just said makes me feel a bit better about things."

Andrea prodded Glenn, "So tell me, what happened when you confronted Daryl?"

"He didn't deny anything and I just fell apart. I started crying and I think he just didn't know what to do. I think he was feeling really uncomfortable because I was such a wreck. He told me to hit him. He said he was giving me one 'free shot'. I said I couldn't do it. He'd just saved my life out at the farm and he looked so beat up and vulnerable and I told him I wouldn't hit him again, that I just couldn't do it. Then he apologized and said he couldn't change what had already happened. I was just going to leave, I really was, but then he said he was sorry he'd kissed Maggie! I hadn't suspected that he'd kissed her, I just figured he'd probably copped a feel or something. I totally lost it and I hit him."

Andrea scoffed. "A kiss bothers you more than copping a feel would?"

"Yeah. I guess I thought that copping a feel wouldn't mean much to Daryl, you know? It seems like a Dixon sort of thing to do and it would be total payback for what Maggie did to him, but a kiss...that's much more intimate and he instigated it! Yeah, it infuriated me.

Andrea nodded. "So, you took your free hit. Obviously Daryl didn't hit you back or your face would be a mess today, so he really honored his offer of a free hit. Consider yourself lucky, because as banged up as he is, I'm sure Daryl could have caused some damage after you got your freebie."

Glenn didn't say anything for a while and Andrea waited for him to continue.

"No, he couldn't have. I've never hit anyone that hard in my life, I was sure I'd broken my hand." Glenn said. "I guess I knocked him out. I thought I'd killed him."

Andrea's eyes grew wide. "You what? Was he okay?" Glenn Rhee had KO'd Daryl Dixon? Was that even possible?

Glenn stopped patting the goat and looked out the window, he didn't want to see the look of disgust he was sure must be on Andrea's face. "Yeah, Rick checked on him and he was fine. The scary thing is that right after I'd done it, I didn't care if he was okay or not."

Andrea swallowed. Holy shit. Glenn was one of the most sensitive and caring people she'd met. The cold, callous Glenn he was describing just didn't exist. Did he? "Do you regret it now?" she asked, almost fearfully.

"Oh, hell yes. I feel awful about it. I mean, I've known for a long time that Maggie and Daryl were close and Daryl, well, it's a damned miracle if someone is even able to get close to him. I just thought Daryl wouldn't act on his feelings and Maggie wouldn't act on hers. I guess I was wrong and when the world comes to an end and every day could be your last, all bets are off."

"So what now?" Andrea asked.

"I just let myself heal. I thought about reconsidering and asking Maggie if she wanted to start over, but I think I need to just be friends with her for a while first." Glenn remembered what Rick had told him about Daryl's subdural hemorrhage and it made Glenn a bit sick to his stomach to think that if he really wanted Maggie back, all he had to do was to wait for nature to take its course.

"You're a good guy, Glenn, and I'm sorry you're going through this, and for the record, no, I don't think you were being too hasty." Andrea said and she reached over and squeezed his hand.

"It's okay. I'll live," Glenn replied. "Thanks for listening to me piss and moan about this. I appreciate it and I actually do feel better."

Andrea smiled. "See?" she said brightly, "sometimes it helps to talk things out with someone outside of the situation."

* * *

Daryl stepped onto the porch from his room which excited the walkers that were still at the fence. Several of them had wandered off, but there were still about fifty of them milling about on the fence-line. They moaned and groaned and snarled as they pushed urgently against the fence, trying to get to him. "Yeah, I must smell delicious to you dead fucks. Prolly smell like your version a fried chicken." he mumbled. He quietly walked to the kitchen door, opened it, and stepped into the kitchen.

Dale was in the kitchen and he was pouring himself a glass of sweet tea. Daryl didn't say a word, but just walked to the refrigerator and opened up the freezer. His eyes scanned the contents. He was hungry and there was such a variety to choose from. Even before the world went to hell, Daryl had never had this much food in his own freezer to choose from. He yanked a bag of frozen chicken tenders shaped like dinosaurs out of the freezer and then pulled a plate out of the cupboard. He could feel Dale's eyes on his back but still he didn't say anything. Dale thought he was nothing but a redneck piece of shit that had been sleeping with Glenn's girlfriend behind Glenn's back and Daryl had nothing to say to the man. He dumped a pile of the dinosaur shaped breaded chicken chunks onto the plate and then shoved it into the microwave. He wished he'd picked something that cooked faster as he set the timer to four minutes.

Dale cleared his throat as Daryl was returning the remaining chicken tenders to the freezer.

Daryl froze for a second, then keeping his back to Dale, moved over to the microwave to wait.

Dale's voice broke the uncomfortable silence. "Um...Daryl?"

Shit. Daryl was in no mood to talk to Dale about anything. "What?" he snapped, trying to sound as intimidating and grumpy as possible so Dale would just say 'never-mind' and leave him in peace. It didn't work.

"I've been wanting to talk to you since the day we fought the military group that came to take this house from us, and I'm ashamed that I haven't had the nerve to approach you." Dale said. "The truth is, I owe you a big apology."

Daryl swallowed and then took a deep breath and released it. He still kept his back to Dale as he spoke. "Dale, you don't owe me a damned thing an' ah know you think I'm a piece a shit an' I really don't care, so why doncha just save your breath."

"No, Daryl, I don't think that you're a piece of shit. I think you're a man who has gone out of his way to keep us safe and fed and that you've been under a lot of stress, both mentally and physically. I've been feeling guilty and I need to apologize. Every time I see what I did to the right side of your face, it makes me feel sick. I'm so sorry, Daryl. I thought you were one of the 'bad guys'."

Daryl still wouldn't turn to face Dale. "Was you then that kicked me. Figured it was you or Glenn."

"Can you forgive me?" Dale asked.

What the hell was this? Lori had asked for his forgiveness earlier in the day. Was there something in the tea they were all drinking that was making them feel guilty about what they'd done to him?

"Shit happens." Daryl said. "I was dressed like one a them soldiers an' as I understand it y' all thought I was dead. Was an accident."

"And one I'm truly sorry about." Dale said.

Daryl nodded. They were always sorry after the fact. He didn't say any more and he was relieved when the microwave beeped indicating his chicken was done.

Dale seemed to understand that the uncomfortable conversation was over and he left the kitchen.

Daryl took a bottle of ketchup and a can of Sprite out of the refrigerator and arranged his chicken dinosaurs in circle on the plate. He then squeezed a small mountain of ketchup onto the center of the circle and returned the ketchup to the refrigerator.

"That's disgustin', boy. Never did understand why ya like ketchup on ever'thin'." Imaginary Merle snorted.

"When you can't cook, it hides a multitude a sins.'S habit now." Daryl mumbled. He carried his plate and his can of Sprite out onto the porch and then back into his room.

* * *

Daryl held a Stegosaurus shaped piece of chicken and made it gallop around the edge of the plate. "Arrrrrrgh...oh no! La Brea tar pits! Blub, blub, blub." he said to himself as the Stegosaurus dove headfirst into the pool of ketchup. Yes, he thought, he was a bit old to be playing with his food but come on! These were pieces of chicken shaped like _dinosaurs_! They just begged to be played with, at least a little bit. Daryl stopped goofing around and started to think about his predicament as he ate. He couldn't leave that evening, but there was no reason he couldn't leave in the morning. He decided that if he was infected, he would rather be on the road and far away when he started to get sick. Tonight he'd stay here, though, and let Hershel make his hourly visits.

Daryl knew that he would have to fish a pillow or two out of his truck before he went to sleep. He smirked at how spoiled he'd become. He'd spent the last several months until he'd found this place sleeping in a tent on the ground or on a thin pad and now he wasn't willing to sleep in this big comfortable bed without a pillow? "You're such a pussy," he said to himself between bites of ketchup drowned dinosaur shaped chicken.

Hershel came in to feel his head and insisted on sticking a thermometer in his mouth. This worried Daryl but Hershel reassured him and said that Daryl didn't feel hot at all, but that he just wanted to know what his temp actually was. Daryl had always run a degree lower, at 97.6 F and he was holding steady there.

Daryl was exhausted, but other than that, he felt pretty good. The absence of any headaches was delightful and it puzzled him that his left temple where Glenn had nailed him good the night before didn't hurt. The stitched areas on his body itched and his right hand hurt, but the Tylenol was doing a great job at keeping that bearable. The regular muscle aches weren't even present. 'Hooray for Tylenol with codeine.' he thought.

* * *

Daryl carried his plate and the empty soda can back to the kitchen by way of the porch. He still didn't want to walk through the house and chance running into a bunch of people. He especially didn't want to have to explain his injured hand to anyone. He had just washed his plate (which was an interesting feat to accomplish one-handed) and put it away when Maggie walked into the kitchen. He recognized her footsteps and turned around to greet her. She came at him when she saw him with her arms outstretched and his eyes grew wide and darted around the room as he instinctively looked for an escape route before she embraced him. He relaxed in her arms once she'd thrown them around him.

"Thank you for saving me. I was so scared. I was sure I was going to die." she said as she looked up at him. She was surprised when she felt his arms go around her back and he pulled her close.

"I told you, I ain't lettin' nothin' happen to you." he said in a low, quiet voice and he bent down and kissed her forehead.

* * *

Rick was watching "Jurassic Park" with Carl and Beth in the game room and had almost fallen asleep in his chair when the walkie talkie in his front pocket crackled to life.

Carl paused the movie leaving an image of a Tyrannosaurus Rex 's eye peeking into a vehicle on the screen.

"LG Base, LG Base, this is Mobile Unit One, come in, LG Base." Glenn's voice said followed by a blast of static.

LG Base? Mobile Unit One? Rick grinned and pressed the talk button. "Hey Glenn, You and Andrea need to be very careful. We had a herd show up here a couple hours ago. Most of them have moved on now, but there are still some stragglers around the fence. Nothing on the driveway side, but be careful."

There was a blast of static and Glenn's voice came back and Rick could swear he heard a noise that sounded like sheep bleating in the background. "Okay, we'll be careful. We just turned onto Forest Lake Road."

Rick cocked an eyebrow. "Do you have livestock with you?" he asked.

There was a long silence and then the static cracked again and Glenn's voice said, "Yeah, a couple of goats and some chickens." Rick heard Andrea's voice in the background say, "I told you it would shit in here!" and he smiled. He thought for sure they would be taking the F150 and was surprised to find they had taken the Hyundai on a trip to bring back chickens. He was sure that Andrea had already told Glenn that he had clean up duty for any animal manure that ended up in the vehicle. He was right.


	83. Chapter 83

Maggie stepped back from Daryl and smiled. She frowned when she noticed his right hand was wrapped with gauze. "What happened to your hand?" she asked.

"Cut my finger," he said and he bit his lower lip. Technically, it wasn't a lie. He had cut it. Off.

"Is it deep?" Maggie asked as she gently took his wrist so she could examine his hand better.

Daryl pulled his hand away from her. "Yeah, real deep."

Maggie reached for it and Daryl raised his hand up over his head. "Don' touch it. Hurts."

Maggie looked up at Daryl with worry in her eyes. "How did it happen?"

"Lord, woman, stop makin' a big deal outta it." Daryl griped as he lowered his injured hand. He put his left hand on her right shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "How 'bout you? Any cuts or bruises you wanna show me so I can hop aroun' pullin' my hair out an' get all worked up over 'em?"

Maggie smiled again and Daryl almost melted where he stood. She had a beautiful smile. "Oh, stop," she laughed. "I wasn't hopping around or pulling out my hair."

"You were about to," he teased.

Maggie stepped back from him. "I was not, I just hate to see you get hurt and it seems that you tend to get hurt a lot lately."

"Yeah, I'm one helluva klutz," Daryl said as he rubbed the scraggly beard on his chin.

"You need to stay here with us." Maggie said. "If you hadn't been here to come and save me, I wouldn't be here right now. You really need to reconsider leaving."

Daryl scoffed and moved toward the door. "If I'd left a while ago like I shoulda, there'd a been no hole for you to be throwin' rocks inta an' this never woulda happened."

He opened the door onto the porch to leave.

"Where are you going?" Maggie asked.

"Crazy." Daryl responded as he stepped out onto the porch.

Imaginary Merle snorted. "Gonna be a real short trip."

Maggie followed Daryl out onto the porch. "If you're going to be leaving in the next day or so, I want to spend as much time as I can with you." she said. "I'm going to miss you so much and it's going to make me crazy not knowing where you are and if you're okay or not. You're going to be out there all alone and what if you get hurt or sick? There won't be anyone there to help you."

The walkers around the fence were becoming more agitated and shook the fence and growled and hissed as they hungrily watched the two people on the porch.

Daryl threw up his hands. He was not going to let Maggie make him feel guilty about his decision to leave. "I'll be fine an' after a while you'll forget all about me. I can't stay here, an' you ain't comin' with me." He stepped off the porch and walked toward the garage with Maggie right behind him.

"I could never forget about you, I love you."

Daryl stopped walking and spun around to face Maggie. He leaned into her and pointed a finger in her face. "Stop sayin' that!" he snapped.

Maggie folded her arms and glared at him defiantly. "Why? It's true."

"Well stop it!" Daryl snarled as he turned and continued to walk toward the garage.

"I can't." Maggie snapped. "Just because you don't feel that you're worthy of love it doesn't keep me from loving you. You're wrong, too, Tiger. You are very worthy of love."

Daryl walked faster. He didn't want to hear this. It was bullshit.

Maggie jogged after him and came along beside him. "What are you doing?"

"I'm tired an' I wanna get some sleep," he said as he opened the door to the garage. He knew it hadn't been locked after Maggie had dragged his drunk ass out of there the night before.

"You're going to sleep in the garage?" Maggie asked.

Daryl rolled his eyes and pulled two crowbars off the tool shelf. He turned and handed one to her. "Why the hell would I do that? I got a real nice bed in my room lots more comfortable than a cement floor."

"I was wondering that myself when I found you bedded down out here on the floor last night." Maggie said sarcastically.

"Ah's drunk las' night." he said. "An' I can fall sleep anywhere when I'm drunk. S' all the same to me. A bed, the floor, a ditch. Any port in a storm."

She followed him out of the garage and towards the fence. The walkers groaned and snarled with renewed enthusiasm as the two tasty morsels on the other side of the fence approached them.

"I ain't drunk now, case you hadn't noticed, an' I can't sleep with all this fuckin' racket goin' on out here." Daryl said as he thrust the straight end of the crowbar through the fence and into a walker's eye socket.

Maggie jabbed her crowbar through the fence and into a female walker's forehead. "I really, really wish you would reconsider staying here. After all, you found this house. If anyone should be leaving, it should be everyone else, including me."

Daryl snorted and moved down the fence line, angrily driving the crowbar through the fence and putting the bar completely through a walker's head. "Tha's crazy talk. This place is big an' a lot safer n' the farm. Room for y'all an' it's way too nice for me," he said as he pulled on the crowbar now stuck in the walker's head, repeatedly banging the impaled head against the fence as he tried to dislodge the metal rod.

Maggie moved to his left and stabbed a walker on the other side of the fence through the eye, driving the crowbar into its head just far enough to pierce the brain. She glanced at Daryl who had now placed his left foot on the fence for leverage and was tugging on the crowbar as hard as he could. She smirked as his face contorted into a grimace and he let loose a stream of curses.

Maggie was amused as she watched him and then she caught herself admiring the well-defined muscles in Daryl's arms as they flexed and strained to pull the crowbar free.

Daryl was furious. "Damn,".. (tug),"mother"... (tug),"fuckin'"... (tug), "thing!" The crowbar came out of the walker's head with a squishy 'pop' and the sudden lack of tension threw Daryl backward. He landed on his ass with a thud.

Maggie couldn't help it. She looked at the bewildered and wide-eyed man sitting straight-legged on the ground next to her and she exploded into giggles.

Daryl felt like an idiot and his face flushed red. He got to his feet and brushed himself off as Maggie regained her self-control.

"You okay, Tiger?" she asked. He had reminded her of a cat she had that would do something foolish like getting too rambunctious when playing and fall off a chair. He would get up then ignore everyone around him while furiously licking himself on the back or chest as if he was embarrassed (what, me? I didn't do that, I've been sitting here licking myself the whole time) before running out of the room. She wondered if tigers behaved in a similar fashion.

"Fuckin' fabulous." Daryl mumbled.

Maggie could tell that he was embarrassed and she felt bad about laughing, but it wasn't every day that you got to see the sure-footed, stealthy hunter fall on his ass, so she just couldn't help it.

Daryl regained his composure and swallowed what was left of his pride and smiled at Maggie.

They walked along the fence line, poking walkers through their brains until there weren't any left standing close enough to the fence for them to execute.

"That should quiet things down a bit." he said as he reached for Maggie's crowbar. "I'm gonna wash these off an' then take a siesta." he told her.

"Maggie followed Daryl to where the garden hose was rolled up near the house. "Can we talk later on? After you wake up?"

"I don't know. If Glenn's back by then, might make him feel bad an' I ain't too keen on that."

Maggie felt herself starting to get angry. "So Glenn's feelings are more important to you than mine are? He's the one that broke things off with me."

Daryl sprayed the crowbars off with the garden hose. The blood, strands of tissue and chunks of brain matter slid off the metal rods and clung to the blades of grass they landed on like morbid confetti.

Maggie folded her arms and looked at Daryl expectantly. He still hadn't said anything when he turned to shut off the water and Maggie's patience was at an end. "Well? Don't you have anything to say?" she said sharply.

Daryl shot her an annoyed look and she cringed inwardly under the cold and hard glare of those striking blue eyes.

"No. I don't do drama." he said.

"But Daryl..."

They both heard the sound of a vehicle coming down the driveway as Maggie followed Daryl to the garage.

"Promise me you'll cut out the drama crap an' we can talk later." Daryl told her as he wiped down he crowbars and returned them to the tool shelf. His hand had started to hurt and he could feel the gauze bandage wrapped around it tightening as his hand began to swell.

"Okay, you're absolutely right. I'm sorry. No more drama," Maggie agreed.

"Atta girl." Daryl said as he gave her a hint of a smile .

They both exited the garage just as Glenn and Andrea were coming through the gate into the back yard. Glenn was carrying a wooden crate that clucked and squawked as he hauled it into the yard and Andrea holding a rope and leading a tan and black goat that was followed by a little carbon copy of itself. The goats were bleating loudly and Daryl sighed as his chances for a nice quiet nap seemed to evaporate.

* * *

Maggie ran past Daryl to greet the newcomers. "This is great!" she exclaimed as she knelt in front of the mother goat and scratched it behind the ears. She smiled up at Andrea. "Fresh milk once her kid is weaned and fresh eggs right from the back yard! Thank you so much for bringing them here."

Glenn opened the chicken crate and the chickens immediately quieted down. One, a big black Australorp, poked her head out of the crate's door and then stepped out onto the grass and started pecking at a small unfortunate anthill. This appeared to be a signal to the other four hens who then dashed out of the crate and mobbed their leader to see what she had found and if it was edible.

Andrea turned to Glenn and reminded him that he had some business in the car that needed attending to. Daryl was walking towards the back porch, hoping to avoid Glenn and Andrea when Glenn called out to him, "Daryl, do you have a minute?"

Daryl didn't stop walking and didn't turn to look at Glenn or even in his direction. "No." he said gruffly as he stepped up onto the porch.

"What? Wait!" Glenn called after him and started to jog towards the porch. Daryl stepped into his room and slammed the door behind him and Glenn stopped where he was. "Wow," he said. "I guess I've moved into the number one spot on Daryl's shit list."

Andrea stood next to Maggie as Maggie untied the rope from the metal loop on Mama Goat's pretty pink collar. "I think they should be fine here in the back yard. It's all fenced in and we can build a shelter for them tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's great." Andrea said hurriedly. "I need to talk to you Maggie, do you have a few minutes?"

Maggie finished untying the rope and stood up as she coiled it into a small circle. "Uh...I was going to.."

Andrea interrupted her. "It's important."

Maggie saw Glenn blush, look at the ground and then glance over at her. He was surprised to see her watching him and his blush deepened as he looked at the ground again., He looked like he felt guilty about something and Maggie immediately figured out what Andrea wanted to talk about.

* * *

"Why did you encourage me to go after Daryl if you were messing around with him?" Andrea asked Maggie angrily as the two of them dragged a walker away from the fence to the blackened piece of ground where other walker bon fires had burned.

"I wasn't messing around with him!" Maggie retorted as they dropped the walker in the fire pit.

"Don't give me that crap." Andrea shot back. "Glenn told me how you got naked in front of him and that Carol told him she found evidence that the two of you had been screwing around."

"Carol is jealous troublemaker and she's full of shit. I have never, ever had sex with Daryl. Ever."

They each grabbed an arm on a large male walker that looked like he could have been an overweight businessman. As they pulled on his arms simultaneously, they both ripped off and the women pulled them out of the sleeves of what used to be a very expensive tailor made business suit.

"Well, that's disgusting," Andrea said as she looked at the dismembered arm. She then looked at Maggie, "and I don't believe you."

Maggie scowled at Andrea as she moved around to Fancy Suit's feet. "I don't give a damn if you believe me or not, it's still the truth. Daryl hasn't been with a woman for a long, long time and I only let him see me naked because he was having all these issues with the fact that I'd seen him naked. He said he was embarrassed every time he looked at me because of it. He's my best friend and I didn't want to lose our friendship, so I did what I had to do to save it."

"Even though it cost you your relationship with Glenn? That's just stupid, Maggie. A boyfriend should always come before a friend." Andrea tossed Fancy Suit's detached arms across his chest. She was disgusted with Maggie. Who the hell did she think she was? "Maybe I should tell Daryl that I've seen him naked and then I'll have an excuse to take my clothes off in front of him." she snapped.

"He knows you saw him bathing in the creek." Maggie replied, "Glenn told him a couple nights ago when he drove him back from the rescue mission at the farm."

Andrea's eyes grew wide. "What? Glenn told him?' She shook her head as they released Fancy Suit's legs where they had dragged him to the burn pile.

"Yes, he did, and Daryl didn't mention it to me at all. Glenn told me that he told Daryl."

"Glenn has a big mouth!" Andrea exclaimed.

"I won't argue with you there." Maggie agreed.

Andrea sighed as they each tested the next walker's arm's abilities to stay attached to the walker's body when pulled on.

"Let me guess, now that Glenn has broken things off with you, you've gone running to Daryl. You knew that I like him and that I want to be with him. How could you do that to me?" Andrea asked bitterly.

"I am not going to apologize for my friendship with Daryl." Maggie said, "We all know he doesn't like to let people get close and I feel privileged to be his friend."

They pulled the walker through the tall grass towards the other two they'd already moved.

Maggie continued: "When we thought Daryl had been killed by those invading soldier, Glenn told me that he thought I loved Daryl and that Daryl loved me. I thought he was full of crap, but it made me rethink my feelings. When I encouraged you to go after Daryl, I was with Glenn and I thought Glenn and I were good and that our relationship was strong and that we loved and understood one another. I love Glenn. But you know what? I love Daryl, too. I thought I loved him just as a friend but it goes deeper than that. Much deeper. I didn't mean to fall in love with him, it just happened."

Andrea sighed. "I'm sorry, Maggie, but I think you're a selfish bitch. Glenn is hurting and.."

"Glenn broke up with me. I had no plans to pursue Daryl until Glenn said we were through."

Andrea laughed. "That was just last night. What did you do? Run downstairs and jump into Daryl's bed the minute Glenn said it was over?"

"You know that's _not_ true!" Maggie shouted. "You came to my door! You saw how upset I was!"

"So in less than twenty-four hours you're now washing your hands of Glenn and setting your sights on Daryl. Nice." Andrea said angrily.

"_Glenn broke up with me, dammit_!" Maggie yelled, not caring if she called another herd of walkers in. "I love Daryl, but you know what? That doesn't even matter because he doesn't love me! In a few days he'll be gone and chances are pretty good that I'll never see him again and it breaks my heart so I don't give a _damn_ about what you think of me Andrea! _I don't give a damn_!"

"If he doesn't love you then why don't you just leave him the hell alone and let me have a chance!" Andrea hollered back. "Maybe I can get him to stay!"

"Ha!" Maggie scoffed. "Good luck with that!" She looked down at the pile of walkers and then looked back at Andrea. "I'm done here. I don't need this shit and I'm going inside." she said.

"Fine!" Andrea snapped. "I'm going inside, too."

They both entered the back yard and Andrea closed the gate and locked it.

Daryl had fallen asleep and was briefly awakened by the loud tromping on the back porch as both women stomped across it to enter the kitchen door.

* * *

He had just started to drift off to sleep again when there was a knock on door. He opened his sleepy eyes and turned to look at the clock. It had been an hour since he'd seen Hershel.

"Come in." he called.

The door opened and Hershel came into the room and closed the door behind him. "Any changes since I saw you an hour ago? Hershel asked.

Daryl rolled onto his back and closed his eyes. "No. I'm just so damned tired."

Hershel grabbed the thermometer off the side table and wiped it off with an alcohol pad. "Is the swelling in your hand going down?" he asked.

Daryl nodded without opening his eyes and held his right hand up so Hershel could see for himself. His hand was still swollen but nowhere near as much as it had been.

"Open up, I need to take your temperature." Hershel said jovially.

Daryl half smiled and opened his eyes. "Gimme that." he said and Hershel smiled and handed him the thermometer. Daryl stuck it in his mouth. The taste of rubbing alcohol bit at his tongue for a second as he slid the thermometer beneath it and he made a face. He was so tired and he had almost fallen back to sleep when he felt Hershel pull the thermometer out of his mouth.

Before he could ask about the latest reading, he felt a hand on his forehead and then his cheek and he raised his own hand to bat the offending hand away.

"Daryl, I need you to take a couple of Tylenol right now." Hershel said in Daryl's ear and Daryl opened his eyes and met Hershel's gaze. Hershel looked worried.

"Do I got a fever?" Daryl asked. He didn't _feel_ hot. "What's my temp?"

Hershel didn't take his eyes off of Daryl's. "Yes," he said. "100.2."


	84. Chapter 84

Daryl ran the fingers on his left hand through his hair. Didn't this just figure?

Hershel took it upon himself to shake two tablets from the bottle on the nightstand into his hand and then handed them to Daryl and held out a glass of water to him.

Daryl swallowed the pills and drank the glass of water and then set it on the night stand.

"Do you have a headache?" Hershel asked.

Daryl shook his head.

"Do you feel nauseous? Achy?"

"I don't feel sick to my stomach or nothin' like that, an' the only aches I got are the usual ones." Daryl said.

"Maybe this is just related to the injury on your hand." Hershel said hopefully. "Let's unwrap it so I can take a look at it."

He reached for Daryl's right hand and Daryl pulled it away. "I got it," he said.

Hershel raised his eyebrows and Daryl looked at the floor. He swallowed and held his bandaged hand out to Hershel so the man could unwrap it. "I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I just have this thing 'bout bein' touched."

"I understand," Hershel said gently as he took the hand Daryl offered and started to unwrap the gauze.

"I doubt it." Daryl said under his breath.

Hershel stopped what he was doing and looked into Daryl's eyes. "That's where you're wrong, son." he said. "I understand all too well. You see, I have scars, too."

Daryl closed his eyes and nodded. It made sense. Hershel seemed to know how to approach him and Daryl had always sensed a sort of sadness behind Hershel's friendly and outgoing exterior.

"My Dad died when I was six and my mother and my sisters and I went to live with my father's sister and her husband," Hershel explained as he finished unwrapping Daryl's hand. "My uncle was abusive. Thank God his anger and cruelty was only directed towards me. He left my mother and sisters alone." He looked Daryl's hand over.

The left side of Daryl's right hand was red and hot, especially just behind the black scab where his smallest finger had been. Hershel had seen first-hand what happened to a bite wound when someone survived being bitten by a walker. The wound would quickly become gangrenous and turn black and green and would ooze thick, malodorous, yellow pus. It appeared something in the walker's saliva precipitated the gangrene infection because instead of taking days to appear, the gangrenous infection set in within an hour. The gangrene would quickly eat into the flesh around it, but the bite victim would generally die from the virus infection before the gangrene had a chance to kill them.

Daryl's wound was not gangrenous and appeared to be reacting normally to the cauterization.

Daryl's fever was a normal reaction as well. Any victims of the virus that Hershel had cared for before they succumbed to their illness had run fevers exceeding 103.0 degrees F, so he was confident that Daryl's fever wasn't due to the walker virus.

"Well?" Daryl asked.

Hershel smiled and took a fresh roll of gauze out of the nightstand drawer. "I'm quite sure that your fever doesn't have anything to do with being infected." he said as he wrapped up Daryl's hand. "It looks like taking that finger off when you did paid off." He finished with Daryl's hand and Daryl sighed and closed his eyes. He tossed his head back as he flopped backward and laid half on and half off his bed with his left arm draped over his eyes.

Hershel leaned forward, thinking Daryl had passed out and was ready to shake him when Daryl said, "Thanks Hershel. That's prolly the best news I've heard in a long, long time."

"I was thinking along the same lines." Hershel said. "Now I've got a date on the deck with an Agatha Christie book and a couple of molasses cookies. You should try to go back to sleep and I'll be in to bother you again in another hour."

"Sounds good." Daryl mumbled.

He heard the door to his room open and then close as Hershel left the room and he groaned and sat up. He was still exhausted and damn, had it gotten hot in there or was he finally awake enough to be feeling the effects of his fever? He pulled his t-shirt off over his head and considered taking his boxer briefs off, too, but he was afraid he wouldn't wake up to put them back on before Hershel came in to check on him again or someone else barged into his room unannounced and uninvited.

He hopped up onto the bed and stretched out, lying on his stomach and shifted a bit more of his weight to his right side to take some pressure off the stitches Hershel had sewn to close his still healing wound. He gasped as he stretched and bumped the edge of his right hand on the headboard. "Son of a bitch!" he snarled as a wave of red hot pain shot from his hand up his arm, bringing tears to the corner of his eyes. His breath hitched as he tried to breathe through the pain and he exhaled loudly. This resulted in a fit of giggles as part of an episode of "Family Guy" popped into his head.

In that episode, Peter Griffin was running down the sidewalk and he tripped and banged his knee. The fat cartoon character sat on the sidewalk rocking back and forth as he held his bent leg against him. He sucked in air as he leaned back and exhaled an "augh" as he leaned forward. This action repeated over and over for what seemed to be at least a minute or so and Daryl laughed until he could barely breathe. Merle was in the kitchen and heard the noise Peter was making and he came running into the living room all excited. "Well, shit, boy," he said when he saw what was on the television. "sounded like you was watchin' porn." Merle waved the can of Pabst beer in his hand at the television. "Now I'm fuckin' disappointed." Of course that had made Daryl laugh harder and Merle had to slap him aside the head to straighten him out. Good times, he thought. He'd be leaving to try to find his obnoxious big brother soon and maybe there would be more good times ahead.

Daryl rolled onto his back and let his right hand rest on his stomach. He was going to try to do his best not to bang his hand against anything else that day if he could help it. He yawned and suddenly wished he'd gone out and taken a couple of pillows out of his truck like he'd planned to. Fuck it. The bed was plenty comfortable, he told himself. He didn't need any damned pillows. Right?

He closed his eyes and was asleep ten minutes later.

* * *

Daryl dreamed. Unlike most of the dreams he'd had lately, this one didn't involve being murdered by one of the members of Rick's group. It didn't involve being hurt or scared or chased by people wanting to harm him.

_Daryl dreamed of Lily. In his dream they walked hand in hand down a wooded path like the one they had frequented together so many years ago. The difference between what had been and this dream was that he was no longer a young man of twenty-one in the dream. He was as he was now. Lily looked terrific, as she always had. Her clear blue eyes peered at him from her tanned face as he brushed his fingers across the hair that fell down her back. He could smell her perfume and just being near her again after all this time made him happy. "I missed ya so much Lily. Didn't a day go by that I didn't think of you."_

_Lily smiled and squeezed his hand. "I know, babe, I know. I just wish you hadn't become so bitter and so angry at the world." she said. "You weren't like that when we were together."_

_Daryl stopped and pulled her close. He held her face in his hands and tilted her back so her eyes met his gaze. "When I lost you, I lost my reason for livin'. I lost all that was good in my life an' I lost all my hopes and dreams for the future. 'Course I got bitter an' angry. I loved you so much. You were my life."_

_Lily smiled and took one of his hands in hers. "And l loved you. The three years I had with you were the best years of my life and I never regretted one second I spent with you, but you were so young. You should have moved on." She tugged at his hand and looked down the path. "Come walk with me." she said._

_Daryl wrapped an arm around her and slid his hand in into a rear pocket of her jeans as they started down the path again._

_Lily wrapped her arm around the back of Daryl's waist and hooked a finger on one of his belt loops._

_It felt so nice to have her warm body bumping up against his as they walked. Just being in her company brought feelings of serenity and contentment that he hadn't felt for years. "Where are we going?" he asked her._

_"Far away….where everything's better and everything's safe." Lily replied._

_"Ain't no such place." Daryl told her._

_"Yes," Lily said, "there is." She stopped walking and surprised him when she put her arms around the back of his neck and pulled him down to kiss him firmly on the lips. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight against him and kissed her. ( _I can still remember just the way you taste.._)'I missed you so much, darlin'. So, so much," he told her between kisses. "I never stopped lovin' you. I never stopped."_

_Gunshots sounded and Daryl grabbed Lily's arm and jumped off the path into an overgrown patch of tall ferns, pushing her underneath him and covering her with his body. No one was going to take her from him again._

"Daryl!" said a voice. _The gunshots sounded again_. "Daryl!" the voice said again, more insistent this time.

* * *

"Daryl, are you in there?"

Daryl's eyes flew open. It took him a few seconds to realize that he was in his room at the lake house. The noises he had been hearing in his dream weren't gunshots, someone was banging on his door. Lily was gone and he was alone again.

"Daryl! Are you okay?"

Daryl groaned and sat up. He had been lying on top of the bed in his boxer briefs and he slowly got to his feet and grabbed his jeans. "What the hell do you want, Glenn?" he called to the door when the knocking resumed as he pulled the jeans up over his hips.

"So you are in there. I want to talk to you."

Daryl pulled his t-shirt on over his head. "Ah don't got nothin' ta say ta ya, now go 'way." he said angrily. Dammit. A lovely dream of Lily was brought to a screeching halt because Glenn wanted to talk to him? Of all the fucking luck.

"I'm not leaving." Glenn insisted.

"You'd fuckin' well better leave 'cause I'll come on out there an' kick your sorry ass inta the middle a next week if you don't. You done used up your free shot, now get lost!"

The door opened and Glenn quickly stepped into Daryl's room.

"Are you fuckin' _deaf_?" Daryl yelled as Glenn closed the door and leaned back against it.

Glenn took his red baseball hat off and twisted it nervously in his hands as he studied Daryl. He sure looked pissed off. "I need to get this off my chest, then I'll go and I promise I'll never bother you again." he said nervously.

"Fuckin' right you're botherin' me." Daryl glared at Glenn. "Fine, say your piece and then get the fuck out!"

Glenn swallowed and looked at the floor. "I shouldn't have hit you and I'm sorry. I didn't know about your….in your head….the bleeding. And…and I broke up with Maggie, so if you want to be with her it's okay with me. Not that it matters, but I think we should still be friends because I care a lot for both of you. I really don't want you to leave." Glenn peeked up at Daryl and Daryl wanted to slap that hopeful look right off the kid's face.

"I ain't stayin'." Daryl snarled. "I'm sick to death of y'all. You said your piece, now get out."

Glenn shook his head. "You went out of your way to save my life and what I did was wrong." He smiled a small smile and said, "Maggie's pretty hot when she struts around naked. I guess I should have been thankful that all you did was kiss her. I don't know that I'd be able to show that kind of restraint."

Daryl stared hard at Glenn. Glenn wanted him to stay? He'd take care of that right now. When he was done with Glenn the kid would be so excited about his departure that he'd be offering to escort Daryl off the property himself. "Maggie got me off. " he said with a sneer. "Grabbed me through my jeans an' I lost it. 'S why Carol found what she did. I don't give a fuck if you know 'bout it or not. Don't like it? Wanna blame me? Go 'head, but you ain't gettin' any more free hits. You wanna tussle? Come at me. I'll lay that yella ass a yours out flat on the ground."

Glenn's eyes had widened beyond the point that Daryl thought was physically possible and he looked totally perplexed. "She what?"

Daryl smirked. "You heard me. Now get the fuck out."

Glenn's lower lip trembled. "You're such an asshole!" he shouted.

"I'm an asshole? You wake me from a sound sleep by bangin' on my door an' _I'm _an asshole? You come in here to apologize for hittin' me and tell me you're okay with it if I wanna be with Maggie. Contrary to popular belief, I ain't _stupid_, China. Now that you know that I'm bleedin' in my head and that its more 'an likely gonna kill me, you come in here an' make nice so you can have a clear conscience while you sit back an' wait for me ta kick it. Then when I'm gone, you're gonna swoop in an' reclaim your woman. That's what you're thinkin', aint it?" He shook his head and snorted, "An' _I'm_ the one that's an _asshole_? I don't think so."

Glenn's face and neck flushed and he swallowed. "That isn't…"

Daryl interrupted him. "Get out." he said and he pointed at the door. "Your words say one thing but your face is tellin' the _real_ story. Just _go_!"

Glenn's shoulders slumped and he turned around and did as he was told. He opened the door to leave just as Andrea was about to knock on it and they both jumped back.

* * *

Andrea noticed how red Glenn's face was and that he didn't look any too happy. "Are you okay?" she asked him.

"No." said Glenn as he headed for the stairs so he could go to his room and sulk.

Andrea stepped into Daryl's room and closed the door behind her.

Daryl sighed and fell back on his bed, throwing his arm over his eyes as he'd done before. "Maybe I should put in one a them revolvin' doors." he mumbled.

"Good evening, Merry Sunshine." Andrea said with a grin on her face. "I've got something for you."

Daryl lifted his arm a little and peeked out from under it at her. "What is it?" he asked and Andrea smiled bigger.

She pulled her hand out from behind her back and held out twelve large turkey wing feathers to him. "Ta da!" she said.

Daryl sat up and Andrea thought she saw a hint of a smile on his face.

He took the feathers from her and started to examine them. They were perfect. He needed feathers for fletching the bolts he'd been carving. Just any feathers wouldn't do. They had to be wing feathers and wide and strong enough to spin and stabilize the flight of the bolt. Turkey feathers were the best feathers he could use. He looked them over and whistled. "These are great, six from the left wing and six from the right."

"You can tell which wing they came off of?" Andrea marveled as she plopped herself down on his bed next to him.

Daryl snorted. "Any idiot can. Ain't too hard. Gotta have the fletching on the arrow or the bolt from the same wing, can't go mixin' 'em."

Andrea cocked an eyebrow. "Really? Why not?" Daryl looked at her like she was an idiot and she bit her lower lip to keep from asking how the hell she was supposed to know something like that.

Daryl moved his gaze back to the feathers in his hand. He ran his right index finger over the tops of them. They were perfect. "Bolt or arrow won't fly straight." he said. "See, the bolt or arrow spins as it flies through the air. You apply the feathers at an angle, makes the shaft spin. Gotta have the tops an' bottoms of the feathers uniform around the shaft."

"What's the difference between a bolt and an arrow?" Andrea asked, her inner attorney asking the question before she could stop herself. Daryl would really think she was an idiot now.

He glanced over at her for a second and then continued to admire the feathers. "Crossbows shoot bolts. Re-curve, long and compound bows shoot arrows."

"Of course they do." Andrea said.

Daryl smirked. 'You ain't interested in any a this. Thanks for the feathers, though. I really appreciate that you got 'em for me."

"I was interested when you kept saying 'shafts'," she teased, "and yes, I did get them for you, but I want something from you in return." she told him. "When we were getting hammered yesterday, we started something and you shut me down. You said I was only coming on to you because I was drunk and you said I would be repulsed by you if I wasn't shit-faced drunk. Well guess what? I'm not drunk and I'm assuming that you're sober, too, and I'm coming to you just like you asked me to and making the same offer. "

Daryl's eyes widened a bit. "What? What offer?"

Andrea sat down next to him on the bed. "You need to understand something about me, Daryl. My job before all this shit went down made it necessary for me to develop a very good memory. I may not need it for being in court or reviewing cases now, but it still comes in handy. Now pay attention. We were heading in what I thought was a great direction yesterday and you slammed on the brakes. I asked how come you didn't want to fool around with me and you said, and I quote, 'come to me with the same offer when we're not both shit-faced drunk,' so here I am. Now, Mr. Dixon, do you want to fool around?" She reached over and grabbed his crotch, giving it a squeeze.

Daryl squealed and turkey feathers flew in all directions as he leaped to his feet. Holy hell, he hadn't expected _that._ "What the hell are you doin' Andrea?!" he cried as he backed away from her.

Andrea rolled her eyes and sighed. "I'm trying to seduce you, dammit. Now come here and sit down like a good Dixon."

Daryl bent over and started picking up turkey feathers as he mumbled to himself about how an advanced warning would have been nice. He put the feathers in a little pile on his nightstand and then sat on the bed about three feet from Andrea and turned to speak to her. "Look, Blondie. I'm dead tired an' I just ain't up for no hanky panky right now."

Andrea exhaled deeply. "Wow, Dixon. You're not very good for my ego." she said and Daryl thought he could actually hear disappointment in her voice.

"I'm sorry." he said, and he really was, "but I'm tired an' I'm runnin' a bit of a fever. All I really wanna do right now is get some sleep."

Andrea reached over to put her hand on Daryl's forehead and he resisted pulling away from her. She pulled her hand away and placed it on his left cheek. "You are warm." she said, secretly happy that he was telling the truth and not just trying to blow her off.

"Told ya." Daryl grumped.

"Okay. Rain-check, then, okay?"

Daryl squinted at Andrea for a second, then said, "You really wanna be with me...like that?"

Andrea grinned. "Hell yeah, I do."

"What's with it with you women lately? You all ovulatin' er somethin'?" he asked.

"Why?" Andrea replied. "You been getting a lot of offers lately?"

Daryl smiled. "Yeah, my dance card is just about all full up."

Andrea stood up and then turned towards Daryl and leaned in and kissed him on the cheek before he could even think to pull away.

"You get some rest, but know this, when you're feeling better I'm going to show you a damned good time. I guarantee I'll blow your mind." she smiled. "and probably a few other things, too. When I'm done with you, you'll be begging to take me with you when you leave."

Daryl raised his eyebrows. "Pretty confident in your abilities, ain't you?"

Andrea walked towards the door, "Oh you just wait, Dixon." she warned, "You'll see."

She left and closed the door and he shook his head. What the hell?

"Lordy, lil' brother. Sugartits was on ya like stink on a skunk an' you turned 'er down? What the hell's wrong with you? You fuckin' queer? You an' Rick got a thing now?" Imaginary Merle laughed like he thought he was the funniest thing in the world.

"Fuck you." Daryl muttered.

* * *

Someone knocked on his door and he looked at the clock. It wasn't time for Hershel to come in yet and had all he could do not to start laughing and screaming maniacally. He felt like he was losing his mind. Couldn't these people just leave him alone? Before he could say anything, his bedroom door opened and Carol stepped into the room and stood staring at him with her hands behind her back. Daryl hung his head and closed his eyes. Now what? "Good evenin', Carol." he said. "Somethin' I can do for you?"

"No...no..." Carol said slowly as she looked around the room. "I don't think so."

Daryl thought she sounded almost confused and he raised his head to look at her. Her blue-gray eyes were shiny and as she rested her gaze on him and stared, he felt like she was looking right through him and was addressing someone standing far behind him.

"I think you've done just about enough." Carol said.

Daryl cocked his head. "Carol," he said, "are you okay?"

Carol laughed a tittering, wavering laugh. "Yes, of course I'm okay. It's you, Daryl. You're the one that's not okay."

Daryl furrowed his brow. What the hell was wrong with Carol? She was acting completely loopy.

"I feel so awful about what happened to my little girl." Carol continued. "She must have been so scared when that ….thing that killed her took hold of her. She was all by herself and it must have been so painful and so frightening." Tears came into her eyes and Daryl could feel them threatening the corners of his eyes as well. He would always feel guilty about what had happened to Sophia.

"Can you imagine how she must have felt? And then to lie there and to die all alone. She was just a sweet little girl. Such a nice girl." She looked at Daryl and suddenly her face was the picture of anger, her brows knit together and her eyes narrowed as her lips curled into a sneer. "She didn't deserve to die that way!" she yelled. "She didn't deserve it!"

"I know, I know she didn't." Daryl agreed.

"You were right, Daryl." The anger was gone as quickly as it had come. Carol stared at the floor. "You told me all I had to do was keep an eye on her and you were right. I didn't and she died a horrible painful death all by herself and then she came back as one of those...those monsters!" Carol lifted her hand and wiped away the tear that had fallen on her cheek. "I loved her so much. She shouldn't have had to suffer like that, but she did; all because I didn't watch her."

"Carol, I was mad when I said that an' I was wrong.." Daryl said. He felt awful; like he was the biggest piece of shit on earth. He'd said what he had in anger and Carol had held on to the horrible words he'd spoken and her guilt over Sophia's death had become so great that it was consuming her. "If I could take back what I said, I would."

Carol's head snapped up and she stared at Daryl. Now she was looking _at_ him and not through him. She laughed. "You weren't wrong, Daryl. You were absolutely right. I should have kept an eye on my little girl. I loved her and I failed her. "

"No, Carol, you.."

"Shhhhh..." Carol said as she brought a finger up and pressed it against her lips. "I failed to keep an eye on her, but I've kept my eye on you Daryl. I love you more than anyone else in this house does, and I've been keeping my eye on you. I won't fail you like I failed Sophia."

Daryl was confused. "What the hell are you talkin' about?" he asked.

"I figured it out, you know. I'm not as dumb as some of the others think I am. I noticed Hershel coming in here every hour on the hour. I saw the blood on your hand when you came back from fighting with that group of walkers so you could be a hero to your precious little whore. How a wonderful man like Hershel could have produced such filth for offspring is beyond me. I know what happened, Daryl. I _know_. I know you were bit. "

Daryl's stomach rolled but he sucked it up. He narrowed his eyes and glared at Carol. "You think I'd come back here if I'd been bit?"

Carol nodded. "Yes, yes I do. It's okay, Daryl. You don't have to worry about a thing. I'm going to take care of you and I won't fail you. See, I didn't watch Sophia and I failed her, but I've been watching you and I promise I won't fail you."

Daryl's eyes widened as Carol brought her other hand out from behind her back and pointed the Beretta Cheetah .38 she held at him.

"I love you, Daryl," Carol said. "And I won't let you suffer like Sophia did."

**Okay, all you Carol lovers. I'm sorry, but if you've read TWD comics at all, you'll find that the comic book Carol is nuttier than a fruitcake, so yes, she is OOC for the TV show, but she's been channeling comic book Carol! **

**You guys are great and I appreciate the HOURS you've spent reading this story, now, bring on the hate!**


	85. Chapter 85

**This is not the last chapter, just one more to go! I hope this chapter isn't too hard to follow. There is a lot going on and I apologize in advance if it seems to be a bit confusing. Thank you for all the reviews for chapter 84! I was glad that I was able to surprise so many of you! I loved reading the reviews and I was delighted to see a couple of long time readers post their first reviews of this story. **

At first, Daryl wasn't comprehending what his eyes were seeing. He looked from Carol's face to the barrel of the gun and then back to Carol's face. She had a determined look about her, her mouth was a tight line and her eyebrows were scrunched up as she narrowed her eyes at him.

Carol was going to shoot him. Seriously? Hell, why not. She'd done it in his dreams and he hadn't been very nice to her lately.

Her eyes softened and she spoke softly. "Back at the farm, I used to watch you walking around with that vest of yours on. I'd see the wings on your back and think, 'there goes my angel. My beautiful, tragic angel,' and now, Daryl, I get to be your angel. I'm your very own angel and I'm going to send you straight to heaven. I get to keep you from suffering. I get to save you."

Daryl took a deep breath. She was fucking crazy. "That's mighty kind of you Carol, not wantin' me to suffer an' all. I don't wanna either, done enough of that lately so I'm dependin' on you to make sure I don't when you do this. You gotta make sure you get it done right with one shot."'

Carol smiled as she held the gun. She had been quite sure that Daryl would understand and she'd been right. He understood and not only was he grateful for what she was about to do for him, he was doing his best to be helpful. She had expected at least a little resistance. She listened intently to what he was now telling her.

"You can't wing me or just wound me 'cause gunshot wounds hurt like hell." Daryl said.

Carol's eyes got wide, "Oh, Daryl, I don't want to hurt you. You've been hurt so much." she said.

Daryl almost smiled and he was glad he was able to suppress it. Of course she didn't want to hurt him. She wanted to fuckin' kill him. Why did he find that amusing? He had her attention and she hadn't fired the gun yet and that was all that mattered right now. He continued, "Gotta make sure you do it right and make sure it's a head shot. How's your aim? 'Cause last I remember, it wan't so good."

Carol faltered and then said, "At close range like this I should do fine."

Daryl nodded. "You're probably right and I'll be sure to stand extra still for you. Got one last thing I wanna ask you, 'cause you an' Andrea cleaned an' fixed up this room so nice an' I know you musta had a helluva time getting' the blood outta the carpet. Can we do this in the bathroom? There's a drain in the floor an' it'll make clean up so much easier for whoever gets stuck doin' it. Head wounds bleed a lot." Daryl could hardly believe he was even having this crazy discussion or that Carol was buying it. Would she see through him, or would she believe he was actually agreeable to her plan to kill him?

Carol smiled. Daryl could be so considerate and he had a good point. It had taken a lot of work to get that damned carpet clean. Bloodstains were just hell to get out. "Yes, I don't see why not." she said. She nodded toward the bathroom door. "You go first and I'll follow you, and put your hands up so I can see them."

Daryl raised his hands and walked into the bathroom. He had to bite his lip to keep from giggling when Carol had told him to put up his hands. He almost asked her if she hadn't meant to say 'stick 'em up' and then demand all his money. If Carol hadn't been intent on killing him this would be amusing. Hell, it was still amusing. He smirked.

"Chigger Woman's gonna kill you an' you're thinkin' a somethin' funny? Baby brother, I don't know whether to be proud of ya or ashamed."

Carol stayed about four feet behind him. "Okay, stop right there," she said when he was in the middle of the room, "and turn around and face me."

Daryl did as he was told and Carol was surprised when he dropped to his knees, his hands still up, and lowered his head. She was pleased. He really wanted this. She had been right. He didn't want to go through the agony that her poor daughter had more than likely endured. Carol was delighted, though, at how accepting and almost eager Daryl was to accept his fate. She had expected to encounter some resistance and reluctance on his part and had if that had happened she had planned on putting him out of his misery before he even knew what was going on. This was so much better. Now they could say their proper goodbyes and he would pass out of this world knowing that she loved him more than anyone else. She was proving it to him.

Daryl leaned back on his heels and with his head still bowed, placed his hands on his knees. He wanted Carol to see that he posed no threat to her and that he was resigned to his fate.

"Now you know." Carol said as she lowered the gun and took a step towards Daryl. "You know how much I love you. I'm the only one that loves you enough to keep you from suffering. I'm the only one that cares enough about you to stop your pain."

She took another step and now she stood directly over him. She had to touch him, just once more while he still lived and breathed and she stretched out her empty hand and stroked his head.

* * *

Daryl lunged forward like he had been shot from a cannon and tackled Carol, encircling her knees with his arms as he slammed into her.

The sound of gunfire filled the air as the Beretta fired once, twice and then three times.

* * *

Rick burst into Daryl's room less than thirty seconds later with Andrea, Dale and Lori right behind him. "What the hell is…" he stopped talking as he entered the bathroom where all the commotion appeared to be going on. He lunged for Daryl, pulling him away from Carol who he had pinned against the floor, his hands tight around her wrists. As Rick hauled Daryl backward away from her, Carol, realizing she was now free, quickly moved to retrieve the pistol that was on the floor about three feet from her.

"What the fuck!" Daryl shouted at Rick, "she's tryin' to fuckin' kill me!" He panicked. Maybe Rick was in on Carol's plan, too. Maybe they all were. He yanked himself away from Rick and Rick lunged for him and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. "What the hell is going on here?"

Daryl stammered as he tried to tell Rick what had happened.

Lori had immediately sized up the situation the minute she entered the bathroom behind Rick and she dove for the gun that Carol was reaching for while Andrea yelled to Rick. Lori was the faster of the two and landed with an "oof" on top of it.

Carol grabbed Lori by the hair in trying to pull her off of the gun and Andrea leaped over Daryl and hooked Carol by the collar of her shirt.

Andrea pulled Carol off Lori and Carol whipped her hand around and swiped at Andrea's face, scratching Andrea's right cheek with her fingernails and leaving four furrows that immediately started to bleed.

Andrea shrieked and slapped Carol across the face as hard as she could. "You _bitch_! You scratched my _face_!"

Dale didn't know what to do and just stood there, saying over and over, "Just calm down, everybody calm down. Just calm down. Everybody, please, calm down."

Daryl thought Dale sounded like a host on a Jerry Springer type of show trying to stop a fight between dysfunctional guests. The thing about brain farts was that like real farts, they could show up anytime, anywhere, and usually at the most inappropriate of times. 'Feeling stressed? Are you surrounded not only by dead people who want to eat you but by idiots and a nutcase that's trying to kill you? Dale can help to put you back into a relaxing and zen-like state of mind! Dale Horvath's Soothing Words of Wisdom' now on CD, order now! Operators are standing by!'

Andrea and Carol were now fighting as Dale stood next to them shouting at them to calm down. Lori was getting to her feet with the gun Carol had used when Carol spun away from Andrea's grasp and tried to grab the gun from Lori's hand.

They struggled, each of them with a hand on the gun, trying to wrestle it away from each other and the gun went off, temporarily deafening everyone in the room.

Rick shouted and Lori stared in horror as her husband fell to the ground, hands grasping his right thigh. "Rick!" she screamed. Andrea hit Carol in the ribs and the gun hit the floor again and Andrea grabbed the gun and shoved it into Carol's face.

* * *

Daryl and Lori were next to Rick in a second and Daryl pulled Rick's hands away from his wound. "C'mon Rick, lemme see. 'S gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay," he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. He gently bent Rick's knee so he could slide his leg up to take a look at the back of his thigh and Rick cried out. "I'm sorry," Daryl said. He felt awful about hurting Rick, "but I gotta see if it's a through an' through." Rick squeezed his eyes closed and nodded. Daryl pivoted Rick's leg and he could see the bloody hole were the bullet had exited Rick's thigh. The hole was small and that was a good thing. Carol must have been using target rounds in the Beretta. They were solid and didn't mushroom and break apart on impact like lead top or hollow points, so they did a lot less damage to body tissue.

* * *

Lori moved to Rick's head and took his hand. "I'm here, baby, I'm right here." she said as she grasped his hand in hers. "Just squeeze my hand." As much as she wanted to cry and fall apart, she would hold it together and be strong for Rick. He needed her and she was going to be there for him. It hit her then, how much she really loved him.

Lori had pushed the pain she'd felt when she thought she'd first lost Rick down deep into a hard to reach place. It was the only way she could accept Shane's advances when he had first started to step into Rick's shoes. When Shane told her Rick was dead, she felt such an emptiness and the guilt she felt for wanting a divorce overwhelmed her. What had she been thinking? Now she sat and stroked her husband's hair as she looked into his beautiful blue eyes and she was overwhelmed with her feelings of love for him. "I love you, Rick, I love you so much and you're going to be just fine, because you have to be." she said.

Rick sucked in a breath and held his wife's hand tightly. "I love you, too, Lori. More than you can imagine." He winced and then looked into her dark brown eyes. "Can you believe this? Twice in one year." he said as he tried to force a smile. She squeezed his hand and continued to stroke his hair.

Daryl unbuckled his belt and pulled it from his belt loops. He slid it around the top of Rick's injured leg and tightened it as Rick grit his teeth. The leg of Rick's pants where the bullet had entered was soaked with blood.

* * *

Andrea had Carol's arms behind Carol's back and had shoved her up against the wall. "What the hell are you doing? What the hell are you thinking?" she shouted in Carol's ear.

Carol was furious. "I was trying to help Daryl," she snapped. "I don't want him to suffer like my poor Sophia did. I can't fail him like I failed her. I love him and I can't let him endure such torture. Don't you understand?! I have to kill him before he gets sick!"

Andrea was pissed off. "You want to kill Daryl? Carol, what the hell is wrong with you!"

"He's bit!" Carol shouted. "He's bit and he's going to get sick and suffer and die unless we do the right thing! Do you want to see him suffer? Do you want to watch him burn up with fever and vomit blood? Do you want to watch him struggle for every breath right before he dies? You might want to, but I love him too much than to wish that on him."

Andrea was stunned. The woman was stark raving mad. "Daryl's not bit, Carol." Andrea shouted back. "Are you crazy? Shit, why am I even asking that question?! You are crazy!" She pulled Carol away from the wall and roughly shoved her out the bathroom door and into the bedroom.

* * *

Dale had hovered over Daryl, wringing his hands, until Daryl gave him a dirty look and he turned and followed behind Andrea like a dutiful puppy. It was nothing personal, Dale's hovering just made Daryl extremely uncomfortable.

Daryl pulled the belt tighter around Rick's leg above his wound.

"Daryl, do you need help with that?" Lori asked.

"Nah, I got it. Where the hell is Hershel?" Daryl figured that the sound of gunfire in the house would have brought the older man running along with everyone else. He glanced over to the bedroom door and saw Hershel entering the room with Maggie, Carl and Glenn close behind.

* * *

Carl ran to his parents, and Lori hugged him as Rick assured his son that he was okay.

"What happened?" Hershel asked as he knelt next to Daryl to check out Rick's leg.

"Carol took a dive off the deep end." Daryl said as he moved aside so Hershel could tend to Rick.

Hershel tsk'd and stilled Rick's shaking leg with his hands. "Rick, how are you doing?" he asked as the pulled a jackknife out of his front pocket.

"Not too bad for someone who just got shot in the leg." Rick said, trying to project a 'see, this isn't so bad' attitude for the sake of his family.

Hershel slid the blade of the jackknife into the hole in Rick's pants that the bullet had made and in less than a minute he had cut the right leg off of Rick's pants, exposing his bare leg. He used the pant leg to dab at the blood oozing from the bullet hole in Rick's leg and then turned to Daryl. "Daryl, could you tell Maggie I'd like her help in here?" Daryl stood up to go and get her.

"Is my Dad going to be okay?" Carl asked. Hershel smiled at the boy. "I think you're Dad is going to be just fine. The bullet hole and wound canal is very small in diameter and it doesn't appear that any major blood vessels were hit."

"And you can fix him, right?" Carl asked.

Hershel nodded and Lori noticed the kindness in the man's eyes as he addressed her son.

"Yes," Hershel said, "I'm pretty sure I can."

* * *

Andrea had taken off her belt and secured it around Carol's wrists to restrain her. Andrea and Maggie were talking and trying to figure out what to do with the woman while Glenn and Dale just stared at Carol with disbelief.

Carol started to rant about how she loved Daryl more than anyone and that he was her very own angel. She went on about how it was her God-given duty to send her angel on his way to heaven by putting a bullet through his head and then to join him as an angel herself. She and Daryl and Sophia would be all together then and they would all sing with the other angels and everything would be just okey-dokey hunky-dory tootie-fruity.

Maggie raised her eyebrows as she met Andrea's eyes. "She tried to kill Daryl and then was going to off herself? Murder-suicide?"

Andrea nodded and twirled her finger next to her head in the universal sign for 'crazy '.

Carol heard Maggie speak and she glared at her and shouted, "_You_ killed Daryl! _You're_ the one that killed Daryl, you whore! He never would have been bit if it hadn't been for you! _You _killed him! You did, you horrible, vile _slut_!"

"Now just a minute!" Glenn yelled. By gosh, no one was going to call his ex-girlfriend a slut around him!

Maggie slapped Carol across the face before she could stop herself and before Glenn could say anything else. "You horrid woman! Daryl did more for you than anyone has and still you feel the need to spread lies about him?! You disgust me!"

Daryl came stomping out of the bathroom and Maggie turned towards him. Daryl's eyes met hers and then he looked at the floor. "Your Dad wants your help with Rick," he said.

Maggie nodded and grasped Daryl's arm. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Daryl bit his bottom lip and nodded.

Glenn saw their interaction and looked away.

Carol was trying to pull away from Andrea and when she noticed Daryl she began to yell at him. "Show them, show them your hand! Show them and they'll see that I'm right! You're bit! You know it, you know it! You're bit! Show them!"

Maggie heard what Carol said and she, Andrea, Dale and Glenn all turned their gazes to Daryl's bandaged right hand as Daryl walked to the bedroom door.

"You're bit, Daryl! You're bit!" Carol continued to yell.

Daryl snorted and reached for the doorknob and Glenn grabbed his left arm, accidentally digging his fingers into the stitches in Daryl's forearm.

Daryl looked at Glenn's hand grasping his forearm and then raised his eyes to meet Glenn's.

Glenn swallowed, but didn't look away. Daryl's eyes were icy hot and Glenn felt like they were burning him and freezing him at the same time. 'Detached fury, that's what it's called', he thought.

"You're diggin' into my stitches, China. Let go a my arm." Daryl said in a low, gruff voice. "Now."

"Show us your hand." Glenn demanded.

"Fuck you." Daryl growled. He started to pull away from Glenn and then both of Glenn's hands were tightly gripping his arm.

"I mean it, Daryl." Glenn warned, "If you're not bitten, prove it."

The littlest finger on Daryl's right hand was missing, but Daryl was still able to ball the rest of his fingers up and make a fist which he threw into Glenn's unsuspecting face.

Glenn immediately let go of Daryl's arm and his hands flew to his face, cupping his bleeding, now broken nose.

"Daryl!" scolded Dale.

"You jus' shut up, old man." Daryl snarled.

Dale did as he was told. Daryl could be damned scary when he was mad.

Daryl put his hand on the doorknob again and then heard the metallic click of a gun being cocked behind him.

"Stop right there, Daryl, and show us your hand," Andrea said firmly.

Daryl didn't even turn around. He held up his bandaged right hand and waved it around. "There, y'all just seen it." he said and he began to open the door.

"Daryl!" Andrea said and Daryl thought she sounded like she was talking to a naughty child. "I'm not kidding."

Was this the woman who was so damned anxious to get into his pants today that was now holding a gun on him? It was. The whole fucking world had gone nuts.

"Fuck you, Blondie. Fuck all y'all." Daryl said as he stepped through the doorway.

"He's bit, he's bit, he's bit, he's bit," Carol chanted.

"Daryl!" Andrea barked. "Stop right there! Don't make me..."

Daryl spun around and faced her. His face was red and his eyes were wild with fury. How _dare_ she threaten him! "Don't make you _what_? Whatcha gonna do Andrea? You gonna shoot me in the back? Is that what's gonna happen if I don't obey you like a good dog?" He turned his back to her. "Go ahead, then. I fuckin' _dare_ ya." he snarled. "'Cause I'm walkin' outta this room right now and that's the only fuckin' way you're gonna stop me."

Daryl stalked out into the hall and slammed the door hard behind him.

He sucked in a breath and exhaled deeply as he walked toward the kitchen. He couldn't believe what had transpired in the last half hour. Glenn had dared to grab his arm and make demands of him, Andrea had pulled her gun on him and Carol had tried to kill him. He didn't fit in with these people and he didn't belong here. Now they suspected that he'd been bitten and they would probably sign up to join Carol Pelletier's 'Kill Daryl' crusade. He'd finally had enough.


	86. Chapter 86

**The last chapter. The end of this 348,432 word monstrosity is here. I hope the way I end this story isn't a huge disappointment, just a mild one. Its been a long strange trip and I've enjoyed it. I hope you have, too. Please note that this is my FIRST FANFIC EVER so if the ending sort of sucks I can blame it on my inexperience, right? That's my plan, anyway. I hope it isn't a huge let down! Thank you so much for taking the time to read this story and for those of you that have reviewed, I love you guys! I have met some awesome and amazing people and terrific authors along the way and that has been so much fun. Now..on to the end...**

Daryl watched the doe as she walked along the edge of the woods and stopped occasionally to nibble at a patch of grass she found delectable. Every so often when she stopped, she would raise her head and look in his direction, then she'd flip her tail and get back to the business of grazing. It was almost as if she knew that he didn't have his crossbow with him and from where he sat, he could do her no harm. She knew he was there, but she wasn't afraid of him, just wary.

The moon was rising and it was almost full, illuminating the meadow with its soft, dim light and allowing Daryl to see the doe clearly from where he sat, barefoot, on the large white boulder. His chin rested on his knees and his arms were wrapped around his legs as he held them against his chest. The fireflies danced and blinked like tiny Christmas lights; the wingless females blinking their Morse code like signals advertising their desire for a mate as they clung to flower stems and blades of grass. The males flew around lazily in the meadow, trying to impress the females with their own flashing aerial displays and their ability to fly.

The stars twinkled in the sky and a soft breeze rippled the tall grass and flowers and caused the pines to whisper and murmur among themselves. It was a beautiful night. A meteor streaked across the sky and Daryl closed his eyes and bowed his head as part of a poem he'd memorized once long ago came to mind.

"_'Twas noontide of summer,_

_And midtime of night,_

_And stars, in their orbits, _

_Shone pale, through the light_

_Of the brighter, cold moon._

_'Mid planets her slaves,_

_Herself in the Heavens,_

_Her beam on the waves."_

"_That is lovely. Who wrote it?" Lily asked. _

_They were lying on a blanket on their backs on the dock of a cottage Lily had rented for a weekend at Magnolia Lake. It was early August and the 2am sky was clear and full of stars. The Perseid meteor shower was at its peak and Daryl had smiled at Lily's gleeful admiration of the spectacle. He found it to be rather sad that this was the first time in her life that she'd seen a meteor shower and he watched her from the corner of his eye as she stared, wide eyed and smiling as meteors streaked across the sky and then winked out of existence. _

"_So who wrote it?" she asked again. _

"_Poe. Edgar Allen Poe." Daryl said._

"_You are so romantic," Lily sighed. "quoting poetry from the master of the macabre. You really know how to tug at a woman's heartstrings, don't you?"_

"_You like that, huh?" Daryl had grinned. "You're gonna love this then. 'There once was a man from Nantucket.."_

_Lily had playfully slapped his arm and they had watched the meteor showers for another hour._

Daryl opened his eyes and watched as the doe near the edge of the woods was joined by two others. He studied them as they nibbled at the grass, paying him no mind at all.

* * *

He had stormed out of the house after Andrea had _pointed her fucking gun at him_ and had headed for the meadow. He hadn't stopped to put on his boots or to grab anything to take with him. He needed to get out of the house and cool off and he needed to do it immediately before he went stark raving mad and beat the hell out of _everyone_.

Not only was he barefoot, he had left his crossbow, his Rugers and his little Beretta in his room and he was completely unarmed. Unarmed and outside the protection of the chain link fence. How stupid could he get? The _really_ stupid part was that pride prevented him from marching back into the house to retrieve his weapons or his boots. He certainly wasn't going to enter his room with all those damned people in there and say , "Uhhhhh...ah forgot my crossbow, my shoes an' my guns. Just give me a minute to fetch 'em an' I'll get outta your way."

There were firearms packed in his truck but guess what? His keys were on his dresser in his room.

"If ya had any balls in that sack a yours, you'd march in there an' tell 'em all to get the hell outta your room an' the hell outta your house! Fuckin' pussy wussy, Darleena!"

Daryl buried his head in his hands. He was not up to dealing with Imaginary Merle. He'd been sitting on the rock in the meadow now for at least two hours and he hadn't seen hide nor hair of any walkers. He wasn't worried about them because he figured that if there were any of the flesh eaters nearby, the deer would spook and he'd have enough time to hightail it to somewhere safe, be it the fenced in yard or up into a tree.

His hand was throbbing and he could feel the heat from a fever rolling off of him. Daryl decided it had been long enough. His red-hot anger had cooled considerably and hopefully everyone had cleared out of his room by now and he could enter through the exterior door unnoticed. He stood up and stretched, surprising the three deer who went crashing noisily through the underbrush and into the woods.

* * *

Daryl walked toward the house and wondered what was going on inside its walls. What had the group done with Carol? Had they locked her in a room? She had scared the shit out of him with all her talk about keeping an eye on him and how much she loved him. Yeah, she loved him all right. She had almost loved him to death. He tried to recall his latest interactions with Carol to see if he could sense when she had started to go over the edge. When had it happened? It was his fault, he knew that much. He had been angry with her for assuming he was sleeping with Maggie and he had told her off big time. He had also cut off contact with her after Sophia had died.

Carol had lost her husband and her daughter and with them she had lost her identity. She had never been a very strong person and Ed had made sure that she had no sense of self-worth. She was Ed's wife and Sophia's mother and that was it. She hadn't worked outside of the home and had no other identity. As Daryl thought about these things, he was surprised that Carol hadn't gone nuts a lot sooner.

* * *

As Daryl opened the gate to the back yard he caught the smell of bacon and sausage cooking. His stomach growled in response to the wonderful aroma. It appeared that things had calmed down enough inside the house to make dinner a priority.

The back porch light had been left on. "Just like Motel 6," he mumbled to himself, as he walked silently across the porch to the entrance to his room. He slowly opened the door and peeked inside. The room was dark and he let his eyes get used to the lack of light and looked around. No one was in there, so he slipped inside and closed and locked the exterior door behind him.

He sighed and started for the bathroom.

"It's about time you got back here." a voice said in the dark and he jumped.

"What the hell are you doin' in here?" Daryl asked as he flipped on the light switch near the bathroom door.

Maggie sat cross-legged on the floor, leaning back against the closet door next to the only chair in the room. "I'm waiting for you, of course." she said and she smiled at him.

"Did you check yourr gun at the door? 'Cause I've had enough of havin' guns pointed at me today."

"I'm unarmed. Dad explained to us what had happened. I can't believe that you cut your own finger off. Dad said that he thinks that by cutting it off when you did, you kept the virus from infecting you. Oh, and Andrea feels really bad about pulling her gun on you."

"Yeah?" Daryl said. "Not as bad as I do."

Maggie stood up looked at Daryl with guilty eyes. She took a deep breath and said, "I'm so sorry. It's my fault that you lost a finger. It's my fault that you were bitten. If I hadn't been.." a tear slipped down her face.

Daryl took two steps toward Maggie. He reached out his hand and wiped her tear away with his thumb. "Hey, don't say shit like that. It ain't your fault, not at all. 'S just a finger an' not a very important one at that."

"But it_ is_ my fault. What if it hadn't been your finger? What if it had been your arm, or your shoulder, or your leg?"

Daryl surprised Maggie and himself by pulling her into a hug, "Shhhhhhhh...stop it with the 'what ifs, 'kay? Ain't no reason for 'em. I'm okay an' most important, you're okay so it's all good."

She held him tight and nodded her head against his chest.

Daryl held on to her for a few more seconds, then he was pulling away and walking toward the bathroom. "Now run along. I got shit ta do," he told her and he closed the bathroom door.

Maggie smiled and then made a face when she realized he was being literal.

* * *

Someone had taken it upon themselves to clean up the aftermath of the clusterfuck that had happened in the bathroom. There was no indication of what had happened except for the three bullet holes in the river-stone/mortar wall near the bathtub. Daryl sighed. At least the giant, inappropriately placed window over the tub was still intact. That thing would be a bitch to replace it if ever broke.

He used the facilities and then turned on the cold water tap in the sink and leaned over and drank from the faucet. He hadn't realized how damned thirsty he was and he drank deeply and then splashed his face with cold water. He was still feeling hot and sticky, so he stripped off his clothes and removed the gauze from his right hand and started the shower. He put his brain on autopilot. He didn't want to think about anything right now, he just wanted to cool off a bit. He adjusted the water temperature so the water was cool, not lukewarm and not ice cold, and stepped under the spray. He stood there for about three minutes, just letting the water run over him as he held his right hand up and over his head to keep it from getting wet enough to soften or remove his cauterization scab. Daryl didn't think of anything at all as he stood under the spray. He just concentrated on the sensation of the cool water on his hot skin. It felt very, very good.

He dried himself off with a towel, putting each foot up on the toilet to dry his legs and his buttocks in what was now an ingrained routine. As he pulled on his boxer-briefs, he wondered if Maggie had left his room and he scoffed at himself for even thinking that. Of course she hadn't. He had no idea how long she'd been sitting in the dark waiting for him, but he was quite sure that she hadn't waited for him just to leave when he returned to his room. He grabbed his t-shirt and then decided he wouldn't put it on. He was going to crawl into bed and go to sleep and Maggie had already seen all of his scars on several occasions anyway. Seen? Hell, the girl had run her fingers over them and for all he knew she'd probably inventoried and cataloged each one of them.

Daryl stepped out of the bathroom wearing his boxer briefs and with a towel draped around his neck. He was met by the smell of bacon, sausage and biscuits and his stomach growled again..

Maggie was just placing a tray on his dresser and she turned to him and smiled. "We're having breakfast for supper." she told him. "I thought you might be hungry and I know you like my biscuits."

Daryl bit his tongue to keep from saying something inappropriate about liking her biscuits. Why did she affect him like that?

"I'll leave you alone and let you eat, and I brought in a couple of your pillows in from the truck." she smiled and then warned him, "but don't you go falling asleep right after you eat because we're going to talk a bit, okay?"

"I've said all I want to say to y'all." Daryl said as he moved toward the tray of food.

"I'm sure you have, Tiger, but I have a few things I want to say to you before you leave, and I'm going to say them and you're going to listen. Now eat. Look, I even remembered to bring in ketchup for you."

She was going to talk and he was going to listen. Daryl rolled his eyes. He did not feel like arguing with Maggie so he said "Thanks," and watched as she stepped out of his room. He contemplated locking the door behind her, but then she'd just pull a 'Glenn' and bang on it until he let her in.

He brought the tray over to his bedside table and looked it over. There was enough food there to feed a small army. Eight pieces of bacon, eight sausage links, four eggs over easy, three biscuits with butter and a pile of home fries. A tall glass of orange juice stood next to the heaping plate, ready to help wash it all down.

Maggie had placed salt and pepper shakers on the tray as well as a bottle of ketchup and as Daryl drowned the home fries in ketchup he wondered if Maggie had ever had any waitressing experience. She certainly knew how to fix up a tray of food.

Daryl ate too fast and ended up with the hiccups. He tried holding his breath to get rid of them and that didn't seem to help. He went into the bathroom and drank more water and that seemed to make them worse.

* * *

There was a knock on the bedroom door and before Daryl could tell whoever it was to go (hic) away, Hershel's voice said, "Maggie tells me you're back. May I please come in?"

"Of course, Hershel." Daryl managed to say without hiccuping.

Hershel entered the room and Daryl hiccupped. "I see you did get some dinner." Hershel said as he glanced at the empty tray on the bedside table. He raised his eyebrows. The plate couldn't have been cleaner if the man had licked it off when he was done. (Hershel didn't know it, but that was exactly what Daryl had done. How else was he supposed to get all that delicious runny egg yolk off of it?)

"I'm going to place my hand on your forehead and see how warm you are, okay?"

"Sure," Daryl said and hiccupped. His face flushed red and he did it again.

Hershel smiled. "I know how to get rid of those, if you're interested." he said.

"Please," Daryl said. "tell me what I have (hic) to do."

Hershel stood up. "Okay. Go stand in the bathroom doorway, facing into the bathroom and place your hands on the door casing on each side of you."

Daryl walked over to the bathroom doorway and turned his back to Hershel. He grasped the door casing on each side of him as Hershel came up behind him. "Okay, (hic) now what?"

"Now close your eyes." Hershel instructed. Daryl did as he was told. Twenty seconds went by and nothing happened. Daryl continued to hiccup and was just about to say that this wasn't working when at the thirty second mark, Hershel jabbed Daryl quickly on both sides of his waist with his thumbs and yelled "Boo!"

Daryl yelped and jumped like he'd sat on a tack and Hershel had to laugh.

Daryl's face was red with embarrassment as he muttered and cussed under his breath. "What the hell was that? 'Boo'? That's your cure for hiccups?" he complained.

Hershel smiled. "It works." he said and Daryl realized that he was right. The hiccups were gone.

"How is Rick?" Daryl asked as Hershel aimed that damn pen-light into his right eye.

"Rick is going to be just fine. No veins or arteries hit, just a narrow through and through. It it had been up another four inches and to the right...now that would have been a bad one."

Daryl smirked. "Ain't that what they'd call a 'million dollar injury'?" he asked.

Hershel nodded. He checked Daryl's temperature and took a look at his wound. Everything seemed to be okay and Hershel was convinced that the fever was still nothing to be concerned about. "No headache? Dizziness? Fuzzy vision?" Hershel asked.

"None at all." Daryl replied.

Hershel was extremely pleased. Maybe Daryl's body had healed his subdural hemorrhage. As much of a disaster magnet the man was, he also seemed to have a miraculous ability to bounce back from whatever knocked him down.

"So whats up with Carol?" Daryl asked as Hershel was finishing up with him.

"I'm not a psychiatrist, so I'm not sure, but I think it has to do with the fact that she's lost all of her family and she doesn't feel like she is important to anyone anymore. It wore on her until she just snapped."

Daryl nodded. "I hope she gets better." he said.

Hershel agreed. "I do, too. Its time for you to take a dose of amoxicillin and don't forget to take the other meds with you, too. I'm actually going to miss you, son, and I hope and pray that you'll find your brother and then get to Maine safely."

"Thanks, Hershel, and thanks for everything you've done for me."

"You're welcome, and don't forget; my offer to come and stay at the farm with me is always open."

As Daryl watched Hershel leave the room, he was hit with the realization that this was probably the last time he'd ever see the man.

* * *

Daryl was brushing his teeth when Maggie came in and got his tray to take it to the kitchen. She slipped back into his room as he was just about to turn out the lights and get into bed.

"What, you don't even knock now?" he asked her.

"Not tonight." she said. "So, are you ready to talk a bit?"

Daryl sighed. "Sure. Let's talk."

Maggie smiled and bounded over to the bed. "Let me give you a back massage while we talk. Is that okay?"

Daryl had hoped to get to sleep so he could get up early and be on his way, but he'd probably never again in his life get this kind of offer, so he relented. "Sure. Knock yourself out."

Maggie ran her hands over Daryl's shoulders and rubbed and kneaded his muscles with her talented hands. "How does this feel?" she asked as she concentrated on working a knot out of his left deltoid muscle.

"It feels...really... good." Daryl said and Maggie thought he already sounded like he was half asleep.

Her hands felt so good and he felt the tightness and tension in his back just slipping away. "Fuck, Maggie, feels so damned good." he mumbled.

Maggie smiled. 'Oh, the power of the back massage.' she thought, 'It could bring strong men to their knees and turn stoic men into quivering piles of mush. It could turn a Tiger into a pussycat.' She moved her hands down the planes of his back and pushed and prodded and worked her fingers into his lower back muscles, moving her fingers in circles and pushing and circling her palms. She could feel how tight his muscles were. "How can you even move with this kind of tension in your back? " she asked him as she pushed and squeezed and rubbed his back.

He dropped his head and groaned in response.

Maggie smiled and pushed on his back and patted the bed next to her. "Here, lie down on your stomach." she ordered.

Daryl didn't argue. The girl had magic hands and he was happy to oblige her if it meant the back massage would continue. Plus, it was nice having her near and feeling her warm hands moving across his back.

"Just gotta be careful for my hand." he explained to her as he stood up and then flopped down on his bed on his belly.

"I'll be very careful, Ti Ti." she said.

"Don't call me that." his muffled voice said and Maggie smiled.

Her hands moved up and down along his back, and he would groan every so often as she kneaded and pushed and pulled at his muscles. He felt her fingers trace his scars and he shuddered when he felt her lips as she planted little kisses along the paths of damaged skin.

"Why you gotta touch them awful things?" he asked her.

She trailed kisses up to the back of his neck and she whispered in his ear. "'Cause I love you and nothing about you is awful. Nothing." She traced his scars with her fingers and he let her. "I'm going to miss you so much."

Daryl didn't lift his head or move. "I'll miss you, too." he said tiredly.

Maggie massaged Daryl's back, neck and shoulders and the backs of his upper arms for the next ten minutes. She felt like she was on fire as she ran her appreciative hands over his wonderfully well sculpted body. They never did get to talk. She heard his breathing deepen and she stopped what she was doing and poked his shoulder. "Daryl?" she said. He didn't move or reply and she smiled. She knew he was exhausted and she'd put him to sleep.

Maggie slid off the bed and locked the bedroom door. She then flicked off the light switch. She unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them down and stepped out of them and unbuttoned her shirt and let it fall to the floor. She stood in the dark room in her tank top and panties and then she climbed onto Daryl's bed. He was still asleep and she slid over next to him and pressed herself against him as she threw an arm over his back. She pulled him closer to her. He was warm and he smelled of pine trees and soap and being close to him like this and breathing in his breath made her happy. She ran her fingers across his back and then combed them lightly through his hair. "I love you, Daryl." she whispered. "I'll always love you."

* * *

The sun was just starting to rise as Daryl turned off Forest Lake Road and onto the highway. The pile of maps and notes on the passenger seat fluttered in the breeze coming through the truck's open passenger window. The map on the top of the pile had the route to Fort Benning traced in red marker.

Daryl had awakened at a little after four am after sleeping better than he had in a long, long time. He was surprised to find Maggie in bed next to him and he had been oh so careful not to wake her as he dressed and gathered the last of his belongings.

He took one last look around at his room. His room. He was going to miss the big, soft bed and the fancy bathroom, the Remington artwork and the stuffed 'I'm gonna spray you' skunk.

Maggie giggled in her sleep and Daryl smiled. God, he was going to miss her. She really was his best friend. He walked quietly to the side of the bed and bent over and kissed her lightly on the cheek. "Love ya, Mags." he whispered.

It was still dark, but the morning birds had started to sing as he stepped out onto the porch from his room and walked across the dew kissed lawn to his truck. The morning air was chilly and smelled of pine trees and rain. Daryl inhaled deeply. He looked back at the quiet house before he got into his truck and he a suddenly was hit with a pang of sadness that overwhelmed him. This was _his_ house. Didn't he belong here? He stomped that thought flat and pushed it aside.

He _didn't_ belong here. This was _not_ his house. It was _not_ his home. It belonged to the group and they would be okay here. They had everything they needed and they didn't need him anymore. His altercation with Glenn and Andrea the day before had shown him that they not only didn't need him, they didn't want him anymore, either.

Daryl told himself that he had never belonged with the group to begin with. He was a Dixon and Dixons didn't play nice with others. He needed to go to Fort Benning and look for Merle. That was the first thing he had to do. Blood was blood and Merle was his blood.

* * *

The maps and the papers on the passenger seat fluttered and a couple of pages blew off the seat and onto the floor. Daryl sighed and stopped the truck in the middle of the highway. He picked up the loose papers and placed them back on the seat and then he reached into the cab area behind the passenger seat. He smiled as the grabbed what he'd been looking for. He placed the stuffed 'I'm gonna spray you' skunk on top of the papers and the maps to keep them from blowing around. That skunk was going to look real nice in his bedroom once he got to his house in Maine.

He put the truck back in gear and drove toward Fort Benning.

**exile** - a person who is voluntarily absent from home or country.

**Just a small epilogue, because one of my reviewers wanted one (and because I can't leave well enough alone!) I'm already chomping at the bit to write another story and the poll results were 2:1 in favor of a sequel, so a sequel it is.**

EPILOGUE – SORT OF...KIND OF...

Maggie yawned and opened her eyes. The sun was rising and the light peeking in the windows cast a pinkish hue throughout the room. It took her a few seconds to remember where she was. She was in Daryl's room and in Daryl's bed. She glanced to where Daryl had been sleeping next to her just a few hours ago. He was gone. She frowned, but had she really thought he would actually wake her up to say goodbye? No, she had known that he wouldn't.

He had left his pillow and Maggie could see the indentation in it where he'd laid his head. She reached over and grabbed it and pulled it close to her face. She could smell him on it. Pine trees, soap and Big Sexy Hair. Maggie hugged the pillow to her chest and buried her nose in the top of it and inhaled deeply.

She became aware of the weight of a blanket covering her to just above her knees and she glanced down to see Daryl's tan, black and red serape draped over her lower legs. She reached out a hand and ran her fingers over the rough fabric.

Maggie saw something out of the corner of her eye that caught her attention and she moved her gaze to the nightstand next to the bed. She saw what Daryl had left for her and she smiled as tears filled her eyes. He really did care about her. A small, heart-shaped stone leaned against the bottom of a water filled Yukon Jack bottle. In the bottle, their bright blooms contrasting with their dark green stems, stood four orange and black, wild tiger-lillies.


End file.
